Daddy's Girl
by kickstergal
Summary: CH 14 UP'I can think of nothing that would please me more, Max.Except, you know, for the root canal I have scheduled.'Brennan and her Dad and some BB also, because almost impossible not to put, and have limited willpower. Plot somewhere in there.I think.
1. Guilt cookies

DISCLAIMER: Don't own. Is that enough? I don't own the show known as Bones, although would like to. But can't currently afford a car, let alone a major network television show. Oh, well.

Her Dad was clinically insane.

That was the only explanation.

Or, the only explanation that she was going to allow herself to consider, because the other, more rational one was far too scary to contemplate.

Which was that he loved her.

No.

He'd _really_ done this out of some sense of guilt. Out of trying to atone for the past, tie up some loose end he saw in her, in the way they dealt with each other.

Because he wanted to make himself feel better for abandoning her.

This was pretty much the line she'd taken with Booth when she'd called him to report there'd been an intruder in her apartment.

Booth's head obviously wasn't on too straight, either, as the only reaction she'd gotten, after the "Are you hurt/ maimed/ manically angry?" rapid-fire questions, had been "People open trust funds, buy expensive cars, out of guilt, Bones. They don't bake cookies."

Now, _she_ was willing to consider other explanations. Booth just wasn't open to possibility. Who cared if he knew more about people than she did? He wasn't infallible.

She was pretty sure.

Her father had broken in to her apartment, indicating a huge lack of respect for her privacy, and left a huge plate of cookies on her kitchen counter, with The Note.

_**You looked a little thin last time I saw you. Eat up. Dad.**_

Of course he'd done this out of guilt.

He was a _crimina_l. He was guilty by _profession_.

And all she'd gotten out of Booth, when he'd shown up at her door, despite her distinctly telling him at least three times not to, was a muttered "I tell her to eat, and does she listen?"

Which she'd then had to pretend not to hear.

So having sent Booth packing, installed a new and highly expensive lock on her door, and paced relentlessly for a good ten minutes whilst telling herself firmly that she was exercising, she now sat facing a plate of chocolate chip cookies.

Who was_ he_ to tell her she was too thin, anyway? So what if the cases lately had been a little exhausting? So what if the only thing she did when she got home was grab a cup of soup and fall into bed? So what if all she could think about was work and coffee and sleep, in that order?

It was her life, her body, and he had no right to an opinion.

She was seriously thinking about revoking Booth's right to one, too, come to think of it.

The 'Bones becoming…Actual Bones' jokes were starting to get on her nerves.

Although they had tapered off somewhat since the slight incident where Booth had attempted to force feed her. Her hand still hurt from that one.

The plate sat there…waiting. Mocking her.

She figured the fat content alone would cause her hips to widen as soon as she picked one up, anyway.

'_You accept the cookie, you accept the gesture.'_

"It's just a cookie."

'_It's a gesture of love. Love cookies. Not guilt cookies.'_

She groaned, then rolled her eyes.

Not only was she having an imaginary conversation with a plate of cookies, but the cookies suddenly sounded eerily like Booth.

Maybe_ she _was clinically insane.

Like father, like daughter. The thought came into her head, unbidden.

This was stupid. She couldn't abide stupidity, least of all in herself.

She reached for a cookie.

Stopped.

Looked at the plate warily.

The cookies had no smart comeback, but she'd bet the whole damn plate if Booth were here he'd be smirking at her.

She sighed, snatched one up and bit.

Chocolate chip. Chocolate icing. Really, really nice. Damn it.

She polished it off and looked at the plate. With the rest of the cookies. Chocolate chip. Chocolate icing.

The plate waited for it. Waited.

"Okay!" She threw up her hands, took another cookie, Maybe she could eat more regularly. Maybe. But only because she wanted to.

She glared at the plate, pointed the hand holding the rest of her cookie at it, menacingly.

"Maybe you're love cookies. Doesn't mean I have to go all warm, and…fuzzy."

She wrinkled her nose, vaguely alarmed by the notion.

"I don't need to be a daughter. I'm already a forensic anthropologist, I don't need to be anything else."

She nodded once, determined, and ate the rest of her cookie, having made her point.

The plate just smirked. Satisfied.

**Author's Note:** Hope you like, and all readers and reviewers are appreciated muchly. Have a great week!


	2. Guilt lasagne

DISCLAIMER: Yeah. I asked, but they have this thing about paying actual money to own Bones, as opposed to chickens and vegetable products. Which, come to think of, don't actually own either. Ah, well.

Temperance Brennan, for maybe the third time ever, was flabbergasted.

She stood in her hallway, staring at her door.

He'd done it again.

Given the fact she'd installed the lock, ignored two messages, and put a post-it on her door saying DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT, she'd figured she'd be safe from familial interruptions for a while.

Obviously not, as her father had obviously decided to make a habit out of invading her privacy. Maybe_ he_ was trying to recapture her teenage years, but she, for one, was not going to allow these fits of nostalgia to continue.

Her door was ajar, and the smell of something cooking drifted out into the hallway.

She sighed, resigned to calling Booth, then going to see what her Dad wanted.

"It better not have tomatoes in it. I hate tomatoes." She muttered.

Pulling out her cell, she speed-dialled Booth.

Booth's ring tone sounded. From her kitchen.

"What the-"

She entered her apartment, clicking off her phone, then stopped, stunned by the sight of Booth.

Standing in her kitchen. Cooking.

He turned from the stove, giving her a casual nod of greeting, like it was every day he broke into her apartment and hijacked her cooking apparatus.

"Heya, Bones."

She stared at him, finally finding her voice.

"I installed a new lock."  
He shrugged. "Obviously it wasn't a good one. Plus, hello. Ranger."

She dumped her bag on the counter, sitting on the stool he gestured to, too stunned to argue.

"You used your Ranger skills on an innocent person. I thought that was against the code or something."

Booth gave her a slow once over, and she crossed her arms defensively in front of her chest.

"What?"

He waved the spatula he was holding at her, contemplatively.

"Innocent. Huh."

She bristled. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Well, you know. This from the person that brings me tofu burgers and tells me its beef."  
He had her there. "Well. You need to eat better."

Booth pointed the spatula at her. "_You_ need to eat."  
What was with this obsession the men in her life had with her food intake? First her father, now Booth. Come to think of it, if Hodgins or Zack said one more thing about her skipping lunch she was going to start charging per comment.

"You didn't have to break in to my apartment. I would have let you in."

Booth smirked at her. "Yeah, but it wouldn't have been as fun. Nice post-it, by the way. Although I don't see many burglars apologising politely for thinking about it and heading on their way."

"No, considering the only people that are breaking and entering lately are my relatives and my friends!" She retorted.

He glared at her.

"I just wanted to do something nice for you, Bones."

"By committing a felon?"  
He spoke through gritted teeth. "By cooking you a meal."  
"You've never cooked me a meal before. I mean, takeaways, sure-"

"Bones. Just. Humour. Me."

She sighed. "So. What are you making me?"

He grinned. "Lasagne."

She wrinkled her nose suspiciously.

"Does it have tomatoes in it?"

He raised a brow at her. "No. But they're good for you, Bones. Didn't your father ever tell you to eat your vegetables?"

"He was too busy casing various joints." She said dryly.

"Then why don't you do it from a health conscious viewpoint? They have zinc…possibly…and are all vegetable-like."

"They're more fruit like. And they're mutant, evil, red…" She waved a hand around, "…things."

"Nice adjective use there, Bones."

"Shut up, Booth."

He sighed and turned back to the oven. She moved to help him, and he spoke without turning around.

"Sit."

"I'm not a dog."

"Yes, but you've been on your feet all day. I got this, okay? Chill."

She rolled her eyes.

"Okay. I'm chilled. Practically frozen"

She could hear the smile in his voice. "Good."

She watched him, for a moment, moving around her kitchen, so natural, so familiar.

At ease, though she swore she'd never shown him where any of her utensils were. Funny.

"Well, at least I know what it looks like."

"What?"

"You, in my kitchen. Cooking. I always thought it would be takeout."

"Ha, well I always thought it would be burned, Bones." He shot back.

"I do not burn food!"

"You manage to singe your microwave pizza every Thursday!"

Her jaw dropped at the injustice of this. "That microwave hates me."

"Then how come Angela can use it with no problem?" Booth inquired politely, smirking over his shoulder at her.

"Easy. It _likes_ Angela."

Booth closed his eyes momentarily.

"How bout we test the theory, Bones. You think_ my_ microwave has issues with you?"

She blinked, searching for the trap.

"On the occasions we've met, we've gotten along well." She said carefully.

"Then you can cook for me next weekend. I like my steak rare, Bones."

Ah. There it was. She smirked at him.

"What about your tofu?"

He glared at her. "If you bring tofu into my house, Bones, so help me-"

"-What?" She challenged, lifting her chin.

He stalked over to lean menacingly in her face. "I'll tell your Dad you like tomatoes."

She stared at him. "You wouldn't."

He leaned closer, smirking at her glare.

"Try me."

They locked gazes, while she tried to figure out how to get around this one.

"Well, I'll tell him you broke into my apartment. Without my permission."

He stared at her. "You wouldn't."

She raised her brows at him, enjoying the flicker of panic in his eyes.

"Try me."

He sighed. "Fine. I'll eat the tofu. But don't expect me to compliment you on your cooking."

She shrugged, supremely unconcerned. "Deal."

He pushed back, going to dig around in her fridge, pulling out a bottle of wine.

They sat in comfortable silence for a minute, while she sipped the wine Booth brought her.

Booth broke the silence, fiddling around with the cheese grater. She frowned at it. She'd never seen that before. Come to think of it, the spatula and the lasagne dish looked new, too.

"So. Did you call your Dad, thank him for the cookies?"

"The number he gave me is for emergencies, Booth."

"Well, you being grateful would definitely be a cause for alarm, Bones."

"That is not fair. I didn't ask him to bring me food."

"You can't blame the guy for caring about you. He's your father. It's like…breathing, to him."

"In our line of work we see plenty of fathers who don't give a damn, Booth. Why should mine be any different?"

"Yeah, but not one of them has you for a daughter. If they did…"

She cocked her head at him. "What?"

He shrugged and cocked his head back, giving her a half smile. "Well, it would be impossible not to care about you. As well as worry why their little girl has not bothered to call and thank them for the entire plate of cookies she devoured."

"I did not eat the _entire_-"

"-Yeah, you brought me four. Four, Bones, after I rush over to save your life. You really need to learn what gratitude is."

"This from the man who complained when I brought you an ice pack when that really big criminal ran you over."

"That is a completely different issue, Bones. And that wasn't caring. That was patronising the injured."

She decided she'd better turn the tangent around. She_ had_ been pretty patronising.

"Booth, it's one thing for _you_ to do something nice for me. For my Dad…"

"What?"

"It's just…weird. I don't know how to react to him. How much is too much? He's just some guy I happen to share blood lines with. Do I let him be my Dad? I don't even know if I want that kind of relationship with him. He abandoned me, Booth. I can't just turn the part of me that hates him for that off."

She fiddled with the stem of her glass, stilling when a hand came to cover hers.

Booth spoke gently, squeezing her hand lightly. "I know. You don't have to. You just…you take the path, Bones. See where it leads you."

She looked at him. "What if I'm scared?"

He raised his brows at her, smiled gently. "How do you know he's not just as scared? He's reaching out, Bones. He's trying to find something that'll make you stay."

She nodded, staring at him. Smiled, reluctantly.

"I'll call him in the morning."

"That's my girl." He winked at her and stepped back.

She wrinkled her nose at him. "So what are your motives for doing this?"

"I told you. I was trying to be nice. Not my fault if you run from nice gestures as fast as humanly possible."

"Oh. Is that why you bought me the cheese grater? And the lasagne dish? And the spatula?"

He spluttered. "What? I-"

"-I didn't own those items before. You did this out of guilt." She nodded at him smugly.

"I did no such thing-"

"-You said it yourself, Booth. People bake out of some sense of attachment. They buy things out of guilt."

"Okay. Maybe I was a little upset that you ate your Dad's cookies, yet whacked me one when I tried to make you eat that cheeseburger."

"You shoved it in my face!"

Booth set his glass of wine down carefully. The he threw up his hands. "You need to eat more! You think I don't know how hard you work? How hard _we_ work? How you exist on soup and coffee when we have a tough case? Don't credit me with that much stupidity, Bones."

She met his stare. Watched until it softened, slightly.

"Booth. I know you notice me. I know you see me. I'm just…I'm not used to being seen so often, you know? So clearly. So, sometimes, I pretend I don't know you're watching."

She shrugged slightly, waiting for his reaction.

"Sometimes, Bones, people need to know they're needed. Would it kill you to acknowledge that?"

The words sounded angry, but she saw the spark of exasperated amusement flicker behind his gaze.

She smirked at him.

"Maybe I ate my Dad's cookies to be nice. Maybe I know that I don't have to be nice to you. Maybe I know that when I do need you, you'll be there. You're not going anywhere…Right?"

She needed just to check. Needed to hear him say it.

He shook his head at her, letting her off the hook. "I'll stay, Bones."

Good. She let out the breath she'd been holding, smiled at him.

"So. With a cheese grater, lasagne dish and a spatula, I'll be able to make lasagne every night for the rest of my life."

"You can make other dishes, Bones. See, now I have grave concerns for the state of my steak this weekend."

She smiled at him, sweetly. "Tofu."

**Author's Note** I don't actually know how to make lasagne. I tend to burn salad, so…yeah. Also, hope you enjoyed this. Next one think will have a good old fashioned showdown between Booth and Brennan's Dad. Watch this space. Maiming, loss of limbs, Brennan whupping both their asses- all potential events. Oh, the humanity. Cheers, mate, all readers and reviewers!


	3. Guilt dinner, party of three

DISCLAIMER: Don't own it, but am content that way. Most of the time.

Temperance Brennan turned the two very complicated locks on her apartment door, glad to be home. It had been a tough day, and all she wanted was-she stopped.

Stared in astonishment at the sight that greeted her.

"Hi, honey-"

"-Hey Bones."

Her father. And Booth. Both trying to greet her at the same time, both glaring at each other. Both stretched to their full heights, trying to appear taller.

She had two alpha males in her kitchen. If she believed in karma she'd swear it was trying to tell her something about her cosmic balance points.

And her current habit of buying locks that criminals and Rangers could get open.

"What are you both doing here?"

"Well, you see-"

"We came to the conclusion-"

They stopped. Glared at each other, then Booth made an impatient- well go ahead gesture.

"Agent Booth and I recently came to the conclusion that we've both been negligent in our duties towards you."

"More like, I figured you were being a crap father and pulled you up on it, but hey, whatever." Booth muttered, a spot on her ceiling seeming to hold his rapt attention.

Her father didn't blink.

"Agent Booth thought you might like to join us both for dinner."

She was still stuck on "Agent Booth and I." Dinner, she'd try to get her head around in a minute. Her early estimates indicated she wasn't going to be all that successful at it.

"You didn't answer my question. What are you both doing here?"

She turned to her partner, pointing accusingly at him.

"Why aren't you arresting him?"

She swung around to her father, trying to ignore that jolt of heart-deep recognition that went through her every time she looked at him.

"And you! Why aren't you running away from him?"

Her Dad glared at Booth as he coughed, the sound suspiciously like a chuckle, but met her stare, speaking carefully.  
"Honey, I don't run-"

"-It kind of seems like running." Booth put in.

Her Dad just raised a brow. Booth seemed to wilt a little.

"It seems like running to your daughter. Sir."

Her Dad turned back to her.

"Agent Booth and I have come to an agreement. You eat with us, he doesn't arrest me. You walk out right now…" He let it hang, giving her an unconvincing look of sorrow.

"Booth will arrest you." She finished for him, glaring at Booth, who was trying his best not to look smug.  
"So you two cooked this up to guilt me into staying for dinner? You figured I wouldn't let my father go to jail, that I'd sit down and have a nice meal with you guys, like this isn't the strangest gathering of people in all of human history?"

"Well, no." Booth put in.

She raised a brow at him, waiting for the explanation involving emotions and heartfelt reasoning.

The one she'd eventually, after a lot of arguing, have to agree with, simply because she wasn't able to understand it fully, and she trusted Booth to be right.

"There was that time you invited Cullen to dinner with the squints. That was pretty freaky."

She glared at him.

Her Dad looked interested. "Cullen, FBI Cullen?"

"Yeah, and Bones and her squints. It was like watching a misdirected kick in soccer- you know it's going to be bad, but you just can't look away, you know?"

Her Dad nodded, relaxing back on the couch. Her couch. "You follow soccer?"

Okay. She was going to put a stop to this, before they started braiding each other's hair.

"Hold it!" She yelled, putting up both palms in a cease and desist gesture, interrupting Booth's reply.

"You guys are not _friends_."

They both looked confused. She sighed. She was going to install the mother of all locks in the morning. Or move to Alaska.

"_You_ are my estranged father, and _you_ are the man who has sworn to arrest him. You guys cannot be friends, and chummy, and all…nice."

This was not good. She preferred very solid ground under her feet- _this_ was outside the realm of her experience and she sure as hell wanted it to stay that way.

She was going to have some kind of nervous collapse, she was sure of it.

Just as soon as she'd finished beating the hell out of Booth for setting this ridiculous façade up.

Booth glanced at her father. He nodded, and stood up.

"I'm just going to use your bathroom."

She nodded.

"You can't get out the window. You'll have to come back, and Booth will arrest you."

Her Dad just waved a hand as he left the room, acknowledging the comment.  
She looked at Booth. He was smirking at her.

"I realise how lame that sounded."

"Lame. No. Pathetic and sad? Maybe just a little, there, Bones."

She glared at him. "This is all your fault. I really did not want to have to deal with this. You are forcing me to make decisions I'm not ready for."

He held up his hands.

"Whoa, Bones, it's just dinner. Hold off on finding the line for two hours, okay? Stay in the grey area, have some dinner, y'know? Maybe some dessert."

She frowned at him.

"I have no idea what you just said to me."

He sighed.

"Be a daughter, just for tonight. And tomorrow, you and your Dad can go back to being awkward strangers, and I'll go back to being the officer sworn to arrest your father."

"Why?"

He met her gaze steadily, then shrugged, giving her a half smile. "Maybe we'll all come out of this with some kind of understanding. Maybe not. But at least you can say you shared a meal with your Dad."

She sighed, glancing towards the pointed sounds of the bathroom door handle being rattled.

She looked back at Booth, his eyes asking her to do this.

She saw understanding there, in the depths of his gaze, and caring, and so she nodded, giving permission for them to stay.

Her Dad came out, glancing at Booth, then giving her an undefinable look.

She glanced away, straightened her shoulders, and raised a brow at Booth.

"So. You mentioned dessert?"

**Author's Note**- Stay tuned for the meal. In two parts because haven't decided on what they're eating. My main food groups are pasta and grilled cheese sandwiches, so I'm going to try to make it a bit more upmarket. Thanks all reader and reviewers, and have a fantastic week!


	4. Dinner, part deux

DISCLAIMER: Do not own. Very unfortunate but one must make the best of what one has. :D

**Author's Note:** Mkay. Upmarket food so not my speciality. And hot dogs, totally the food of champions. Or something.

Booth pointed at her warningly.

"Desert comes after dinner, Bones."

She glared at him. "I'm not _Parker_."

"I _know_ you're not-"

"-You know, I do seem to recall a certain fondness for dessert. Twinkies and ice cream." Her father. Bringer of nostalgic memories she had no wish for Booth to find out about.

"Well, my best friend Lucy said it was good, so I tried it. End of the matter."

Booth, picking up on the warning tone her father was obviously was repressing, smirked at her as her father continued.

"Well, not quite, honey. You refused to eat anything else for three weeks. Then one day, your Mother and I dished it up, eagerly anticipating the look of gratitude on our little girl's face, when-"

"-I said no thank you and that was the _end_ of the _matter_." She interjected, glancing nervously at Booth.

He just smiled at her. The Charm Smile. Version: Evil.

"I don't think that was the end of the matter, from the sound of things, Bones."

Her father glanced at her.

"All the same, Agent Booth, in deference to my daughter I will have to leave you in the dark about the rest of those events."

She smiled at her father, relived. "I think that would be best."

Booth shrugged.

"That's okay. I'll get it out of her later."

Her jaw dropped at the audacity of this. "You will not!"

"So what did you say you were cooking, Agent Booth?" Her father inquired mildly, ignoring the fact she was standing there glaring at Booth.

He broke his gaze from her face, looking startled.

"Um, cook? I was under the impression you were cooking. You know, having the most to make up to Temperance and all?"

Her father's fists clenched, almost imperceptibly, but she knew if she saw it, Booth would have seen it too.

She jumped in, before blood was shed. Over _food_, of all things.

"So food equals forgiveness, Booth? Is that why you always bring me lunch right after I yell at you for something?"

He glared at her. "No, Bones, I figure if you're eating I won't have to listen to the two hour lecture that inevitably follows the yelling."

Okay. Now she didn't care if blood was shed over food, as long as she was the one spilling it.  
"Well, I guess I won't have time to yell at you anymore, seeing that you'll be tied up with trying to arrest my father. You two aren't feeding me, therefore you can't uphold your end of the bargain, Booth."

She snuck a glance at her father. He sent her a slight wink.

He obviously didn't think she meant it. Ha. He'd see. Who knew what would happen if she couldn't get rid of both alpha males, and go to bed, in a timely manner. Timely being ninety minutes or less, in an ideal world.

Booth threw up his hands exasperatedly.

"So help me god Bones, I will feed you, okay?"

She crossed her arms.

"Well, is god any good at takeout? Because I haven't been shopping yet this week."

"Shall we go easy?" Her Dad inquired. "Say, hot dogs?"

She snorted. "Hotdogs?"

"Are you dissing hotdogs, Bones? Hotdogs are the food of champions."

She threw up her hands, hearing her father chuckle.

"Far be it from me to dismiss the food of champions, Booth."

Great, so we're in agreement." He clapped his hands together. "So. Where's your mustard?"

"Mustard?"

Booth and her Dad spoke at the same time.

"_You don't have mustard?"_

She ignored the twin looks of incredulity.

"I also don't have frankfurters or bread buns, are you guys going to get upset about that, too?"

Her father took the moral high ground, while Booth glared at her.

"Booth, why don't you run along and pick up some supplies, and I'll stay here and keep Temperance company."

She shifted uncomfortably. Being alone with her father inevitably led to either unwelcome revelations, or her finding out something about the man she liked. She wasn't prepared to deal with either, tonight.

Not when she was tired, and cranky, and when Booth was watching her so carefully.

"No. I- I have to pick up a few things- I'll go. I'll be back soon." She grabbed her bag and made a break for it, waiting for Booth to intercept her, list the reasons she had to stay, to try.

"Bones."

She closed her eyes, but didn't turn.

"Yup?"

"Don't forget the mustard, huh?"  
She glanced back at him, caught the half smile and the meaning under his gaze.

"Okay. I won't."

She met her father's gaze, and saw a similar look.

Both understanding. Both giving her the time she needed.

Since when had she become so readable? She was going to start thinking seriously about returning to closed book status.

Particularly if her father and Booth kept insisting on breaking into her apartment.

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB

Twenty minutes later, while she was considering the reaction she'd get if she bought Lite-Mustard, her phone rang.

She glanced at the caller ID, spoke without preamble.

"Do you have to know where I am, all the time?"

A long pause. "No."

She grinned.

"Liar."

"Look, Bones, just when are you getting back here, huh?" Booth lowered his voice. "Your Dad is starting to go through your closet, and I don't know how long I can keep him away from _that locked drawer_."

She stopped in the middle of the aisle.

"Do not let him open that drawer Booth. I will be there soon."

She clicked off.

Thought for a minute.

Dialled Booth.

"Yup."

"How did you know about that drawer? I never told you about a drawer."

She could practically feel the smirk radiating through the phone.

"It's you, Bones. If it wasn't a locked drawer it would have been a barricaded cupboard or something. Just hurry up, okay? Before I decide to find this mysterious drawer." He disconnected.

She glared at the phone.

"Just for that, you're getting lite-mustard."

**Author's Note**: Part three coming up soonish. A conversation with her Dad, some fighting and the Lite-Mustard reaction. Dun dun dun. Have a fantastic week, thanks all readers and reviewers, like, millions.


	5. Dinner, part trois

**Author's Note:** A number of questions came up in the last chapter. What was the deal with the twinkies and ice cream? Locked drawer- what's in it? And why was Brennan's Dad in the closet? (Literally, not metaphorically, although would be funny.)

Mkay, I was _going _to tell you. Jeez. Okay, maybe not the twinkies, but have now included by special request. Read on to find out…And thanks for keeping a girl on her toes. XD

Also THANKS as well for all the lovely reviews- I appreciate them so much, especially those who have continued to read and review- you're fabulous!

The Lite-Mustard was _so_ the way to go, she thought in satisfaction, watching her father and Booth try to search for something polite to say about her choice of hotdog topping.

"Well, at least it's still yellow." Her father observed philosophically.

Booth nodded morosely. "Yeah, and also…yellow."

She bit into her hot dog, after pointedly adding more mustard.  
"Mm. This was a really good idea, Booth. This is very champion-like food."

He glared at her. "Yeah. Swell."

She raised a brow at him smugly before turning to her father.

"So. Why were you in my closet?"

He blanched, and choked a little on his hot dog.

"Uh. Well, I know that it's your birthday coming up, so I was looking for ideas. You and I don't see each other all that often, and I wanted to make sure I get the right thing."  
Oh. That was nice. She hoped he hadn't seen her overflowing laundry basket. Or the box of condoms in her night stand drawer.

"That's okay. You don't have to get me anything. Booth forgot my birthday last year."

"He did, did he?" Her father said quietly.

Booth glanced at her father, put his hot dog down carefully, then pointed a finger at her Dad.

"You can cut with the disappointed looks, okay? It just so happens that I _offered_ to get her a present, _weeks_ in advance, but she said not to. So I didn't, and now she's still mad."

He glared at her. "A year later."

"I am not mad." Maybe a little mad.

Her father glanced at her. "She's still mad."

She spoke slowly, hoping the message would sink into at least one male brain.  
"I. Am. Not. Mad."

Booth grinned, reaching to pick up his hot dog, evidently satisfied they'd irked her enough.

"Did you get her a Christmas present?" Her father asked, watching Booth.  
"Yeah. I did." He said, smiling at her.

She remembered.

"Did you like it?"  
She smiled, watching Booth.  
"Yeah. I did."

She broke eye contact to observe her father.

"Maybe you'll be around for Christmas this year."

He gave her a regretful look, and she instantly cursed herself saying anything.

"I mean, if you're not on the run from the law. Or anything."

"Well. Maybe we can work something out."

She gave a small shrug. "Maybe we can."

Her Dad looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, then turned to Booth.

"So, Agent Booth, I believe you were interested in hearing that twinkies story."

Her head snapped up. "No, he wasn't!"

"Yeah. Yeah, I was. So, Bones here had an addiction to twinkies and ice cream…" Booth gestured for her Dad to continue.  
She pointed warningly at her father. "Do not even think about it."

Her father cocked his head at her. "Funny. That's what you said about my gaining access to your apartment. Didn't exactly work, did it, honey? Now, she was sitting-"

"-This is so not appropriate!" She was going to have to kill her father. After she killed Booth for creating this situation in the first place.

Booth waved his hand at her, a stern expression on his face.

"Bones. Your father is trying to have a conversation here. It's very impolite for you to interrupt, okay?"

She glared at him.

"Why do you want to know so badly?"

"Why do you care so much?" He countered, smirking.

She slumped back in her chair. "Fine."

She didn't care _that_ much. Only that this little episode would be mentioned repeatedly for the next several weeks, until she either hit him or dug up some equally embarrassing story about Booth.

Her father smiled at her.

"No, Tempe was served up a huge bowl of her favourite dessert by her loving parents. She took one look at it, turned green, then ran to the bathroom to- what it the expression you kids use?"

"Blow chunks." Booth put in, grinning.

He was all lit up like a kid at Christmas, she thought sourly, staring fixedly at the remains of her hotdog on her plate.

"Yes. She blew chunks. Then she comes out, like she hasn't just spent twenty minutes throwing up three weeks worth of twinkies and ice cream, and then explains, very cool and calm, to her worried parents that she felt her sugar intake had been far too high of late, and unfortunately she'd have to decline tonight's designated menu in favour of a salad."

Booth burst out laughing.

"Bones, that's so exactly you."

She rolled her eyes, feeling her cheeks heat up.

"Well, of course it is. It's a story about me. Who else would it remind you of?" She grumbled, sinking a little in her seat.

"You were always were one smart cookie, sweetie. Always my little adult."

"Except when she was choosing her own meals." Booth put in, smirking at her.

She rolled her eyes.

"I'm going to the bathroom to clean up. You two," She glared at them both, "Can do the dishes."

"I cooked." Booth objected.

"You put a frankfurter in a bun, Booth."

"Yes, but I did it to the upmost of my superior cooking ability."

"You put mustard and sauce on top." Her father said, agreeing with her.

Booth held up his hands. "Fine. Doubt my skills. I don't care."

He glanced at her father.

"You dry."

She left the room to the sound of her father and Booth arguing how best to get a sauce stain out of a shirt.

In her bathroom, she leant her hands against the sink, practising the breathing taught in her karate classes.

Looking in the mirror, she studied the expression on her face.

A swirl of defiance in her blue eyes, mixed in with determination in the set of her chin and purpose in the way she stood and the set of her shoulders.

However, it was her mouth that intrigued her-a smile was on her face; one she hadn't even been aware of.

A hopeful smile, Booth would say, and then speak to her of hope and wishing, and love.

She didn't understand what was happening here tonight- she had turned up home exhausted, to be manipulated into a meal and conversations she thought she wanted to avoid.

But now…now she wasn't so sure.

She liked that her Dad defended her; she liked that he stood up for her and looked out for her, and was concerned about how she was faring.

She still wasn't comfortable with the childhood stories, but having observed Angela and her father once or twice, she thought that might be the case with most familial relationships.

The woman in the mirror touched her fingers to her lips, shrugged, smiled, and shook her head, half in annoyance with Booth and his instincts, and half in resignation that those instincts were right most of the time.

So she'd go back out, and try, tonight. For Booth, for herself, and for her father.

The man who broke into her home to bring her cookies.

She re-entered her kitchen and stopped in horror.

Booth and her father had her kitchen knives out, and were pointing them.

At each other.

She took a careful step forward, looking between them.

Booth was looking intently at her father, her father staring back, an expression on grim determination in his eyes.

"Okay. Guys, this is not the way to settle your problems. Booth? What happened to talking them through? What would Gordon Gordon say?"

She watched in confusion as her father relaxed, leaning against her kitchen counter.  
Booth sighed, putting his knife down.  
"Your Dad was just showing me a couple sneaky ways to relieve an aggressor of his weapon, Bones. And don't bring up the therapy thing, okay? You can't use Gordon Gordon every time I do something you don't agree with."

She bristled. "I do not-"

"-You have a therapist?" Her father said, raising a brow.

Booth glared at him.

"Yeah, dealing with the criminal element takes its toll, you know?"

Her father nodded. "And vice versa. It can be very wearying dealing with cops."

Booth held up a hand. "Now just a minute-"

"Well," she jumped in, before Booth had to put his knife-relieving skills to use, "I'm exhausted. So thank you for this," she waved a hand, "Whatever this was, but I think it's time to call it a day, don't you guys?"

Booth nodded reluctantly.

Her father stepped forward, holding out his arms.

She flinched slightly and turned her head to the side.

Hugs, she was not ready for.  
He smiled slightly, and laid a hand on her shoulder instead.  
"I'll be around, Temperance. You know where to find me if you need me."

She nodded, managing a genuine smile.  
"I know. Thank you."

"Agent Booth." They nodded to each other, her partner and her father, with the strange dignity they seemed to acquire with each other at odd moments.

Her Dad paused in her doorway.

"I'll bring you a lock no one can get through, sweetie. Even the FBI."

And with that, he disappeared into the night, her own personal guardian, whatever the tension between them.

Booth glared after him.  
"I know he's your Dad, Bones, but that guy…"

"You invited him Booth. This is all your fault." She pointed out.

"I was just trying to do something nice for you, Bones."

He had her there.

"So, what you want me to thank you for interrupting my evening, disrupting my emotional balance and feeding me the 'food of champions', all in one night?"

He glared at her. "Yes."

She crossed her arms. "Well, I'm not going to."

He threw up his hands. "Well, what else were you gonna do, Bones? Go through that locked drawer of yours?"

"Shut up, Booth."

"Oh, a sore point there, huh? What's in the drawer?"

"None of your business."

"You don't let me read your manuscripts, you refuse to tell me childhood stories. Let me into your life, Bones."

She sighed.

"Booth, it's just…photos. Some keepsakes. That's all."

"Keepsakes?"

She nodded. "Yeah. Keepsakes."

He snorted. "Bones, you didn't even pick up a souvenir in Vegas."

"I've been to Las Vegas before."

"Did you get one the first time you went?" Booth inquired politely.

She paused. "No."

"Well, then. What's in the drawer?"

She studied him. "Why are you pushing this?"

Booth gave her a half smile. "I just want to get inside the mind of my partner, is all. Plus now I have to know if you have any incriminating snaps of me at last year's Christmas party."

She grinned. Zack and Hodgins had managed to spike Booth's eggnog. The result had been an off-key rendition of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. Three renditions, in actual fact.

"I might do."

"Okay. You swear that you'll never give those to anyone."

She lifted her chin, grinning at him defiantly. "What if I don't?"

His gaze drifted to her mouth, and she felt suddenly overheated, her pulse beating in her ears, distractingly.

Then he smiled, giving her a wicked grin.

Well, I might have to share that twinkies and ice cream story. Loudly, and in a public place. With everyone you know present."

She glared at him. He just raised a brow.

"Fine. I swear. But you have to promise no more family get togethers without my express permission."

"Define express permission."

"Booth."

He held up a hand. "Okay. But you have to admit it went okay, huh?"

She rolled her eyes at him, then smiled reluctantly as he raised a brow.

"Yeah. It went okay."

He nodded. "Good. I'll see you tomorrow, Bones."

With a wave, Booth sauntered out the door.  
She waited a beat, then crossed to the door, checking both locks, then giving up.

They'd get in, if they really wanted. Hell, even if they didn't really want to, they'd manage it.

She crossed to a drawer in her lounge, pulling a key out of her wallet.

She pulled a photo from the file inside the drawer, from underneath a little silver dolphin, a couple of movie stubs, and a Wong Foos menu.

A man and a woman grinned out at her from a bench beside a lake. Her parents.

The man looked younger, more carefree, less watchful, less guarded. But, despite the plastic surgery and the years, the bone structure didn't lie. Her father.

She wasn't sure where they were going, but she was suspected she was up for the journey.

She pulled another photo from the drawer.

Another man, this one with dark hair, an expression of drunken delight on his face as he sang into a microphone, twirling a Santa hat.

She smiled, locking both photos away again, carefully.

Yes, she was up for the journey, as long as the man in the second photo was there for the ride.

**Author's Note**- Hope you like!!

Have a great week, guys, and thanks as always all readers and reviewers!


	6. Both Decisions

DISCLAIMER- In no way does Bones belong to me, except for when it hits 8.30pm Monday's. Then it appears in my living room for an hour, and I kind of borrow it a little.

Author's Note- Spoilers for The Boneless Bride in the River below. Proceed with caution.

Temperance Brennan awoke, after fourteen hours of much needed sleep, to a knock on her bedroom door.

Still half immersed in her dream, she called out, annoyed.

"Just come in, Booth, it's unlocked."

And then jerked fully awake, at a very un-Booth-like male chuckle coming from behind her door.

She reached very slowly under her bed for Onetwo, her trusty baseball bat, christened by Angela when she'd mentioned giving an intruder "the old one two punch."

"Honey, if you're looking for the bat I took the liberty of removing it the last time it was here. First place criminals look- you don't want one surprising you with it if you walk in while he's still here."

She groaned, and buried her face in her pillow.

That was it. She was moving. Tomorrow.

"You stole my bat?"

"What?"

She removed her face from the pillow.

"You stole my bat?"

Her father's head poked around the door.

"Relocated, honey. I didn't steal it."

She glared at him while yanking her robe on over her pyjamas, wishing she'd installed the lock she'd rejected from Booth out of pure perverseness, after he'd made the point of telling her that of course, _he _could still get around it.

"Then where is it?" She spoke through gritted teeth.

He winked at her.

"I'll probably tell you after you've had a coffee."

He was far too cheery for an aging criminal on the run, she decided, trying to wake up enough to focus on kicking him out.

"What are you doing here?"

He raised a brow at her. "Well, Agent Booth suggested you might be up for a visit sometime today. He neglected to mention you'd be asleep when I showed up."

"_Booth_ had five hours sleep when I drove back from our case upstate. I, obviously, didn't." She snapped, in no mood to be charitable and mention Booth had driven her _to _the case. In the rain. With one of her CD's he hated playing and her muttering over her notes, among other things…for five hours straight.

Feeling slightly guilty, she glanced at her father, then pointed to her kitchen.

"Do you want something to eat, or…"

He held up a hand. "No. No, I'm fine, thanks sweetie. However, I would like to know what has happened to you that was so bad Agent Booth felt he couldn't handle it on his own."  
She hesitated in the act of grabbing the milk from her fridge.

"That makes me sound like I'm constantly acting out. Booth doesn't have to handle me all the time, you know. I can do just fine without him. I can do just fine without anyone."

She put the milk next to the jug slightly harder than was necessary and turned to face her father, who was leaning on her door frame watching her.

He took a breath, then looked at her…oddly.

Like he knew her, knew what she was thinking. Similar to, but not quite the same way Booth did, sometimes.

"I think Booth was just looking out for you."

"Well, I don't want him to. I don't want him to think that I'm so caught up in someone else I can't focus on things, that I can't work with him. Because I can!" She glared at her father, then snatched up the jug, hissing when the water slashed out of the spout, burning her wrist.

"Damnit!"

"Let me see." A gentle hand took her arm, turning it carefully.

Her Dad turned on her tap, checking the temperature, then brought her wrist under the water.

"Leave it there for a few minutes."

His hand left her arm, to swipe carefully under her eyes.  
She stiffened. "I'm not crying."

He smiled at her. "I know. Just had a smudge."

He leant back against her counter, giving her space. "So what happened?"

She sighed. "I had a…relationship, with someone. A few months back. He was kind, and he listened. And he looked at me…like he knew me."

She met her father's gaze.

"Not many people look at me and see who I am. Sully did, and I- I suppose I formed an attachment."

"Was he cute?"

She frowned at him, perplexed. "Why is that the first question you ask?"

He Dad shrugged. "Well, obviously this Sully has good taste. Just wanted to make sure that you do, as well. Plus, it would go some way to explaining the 'attachment'."

She shook her head. "Yes, he was very good looking. But I went out with him because he was intriguing, and funny, and…he loves life. Sully loves life. I suppose I wanted to be with someone who sees the world for its possibilities."  
"As opposed to someone who doesn't?" Her father inquired."

She watched the water flowing over her arm. "As opposed to someone who's different to Sully, in a lot of ways."

"Different bad, or different good?

She gave a slight shrug. "Just…different. But this is a hypothetical line of questioning." She pointed out.

"Of course it is."

She kept her gaze on the faucet. "So, Sully went away on a boat to the Caribbean. He rang me last night from port. Wanted to know how I..." She took a breath. "How I felt about him coming back."

Her father nodded. "I can see how that would be upsetting."

She looked at him. "But that's just it. I shouldn't be upset! I should be overjoyed that this man who I have this great connection with is coming back, to be with me! I should be happy that I'll have someone to share things with, and laugh, and…talk."

Her father was quiet, watching her.

Then, "What did you do after Sully left?"

She half laughed, lost in memories.

She'd gone looking for meaning, after he left. There was a picture in her lab, that day, of a couple that had never met. Angela had joined them on paper, giving them closure. Closing the case. That was what the people she worked with did- they took events, circumstance, evidence, and gave them a name, a voice. Meaning.

"I had breakfast with Booth, that day. And after…" She shook herself, carefully drawing her arm from underneath the flow of water.

"Angela says Booth worries that he somehow kept me from something, because I refused to go with Sully. But this work…working with him…it's not rational, working so long, so hard, with such messy deaths. But it's right."

Her father passed her a tea towel. "Maybe the reason you're upset is because your heart is telling you something. Rationally, Sully is right for you. But when you look at him, that connection you speak of, the one that's so strong, so right? You have to believe it's there, even when he's thousands of miles away. You have to feel it in your gut."

She rolled her eyes. "Another person that believes in the power of the gut."

"Let me guess. Agent Booth has an affinity for instinct?"

"Yes."

"Ah."

She was quiet for a moment.

"Go with my gut? With Sully, I mean. I should go with my gut?"

"It's always worked for me. I think Agent Booth would agree."

"I'm not going to ask him." She said quickly, crossing to her table and pulling out a chair to sit.

Her father remained standing. "You don't want Agent Booth's opinion?"

"No, I just…I don't want him to worry about me. I don't want him to think I'm not one hundred percent here, with him."

"From what I've seen of Agent Booth, I think he'd understand."

She nodded. "Yes. But then he'd-he does this thing where he says 'I understand, Bones', and looks at me all smiley and happy. But I can tell that he goes somewhere, away from me, for a while." She looked at her Dad, and shrugged.

"I don't like it."

Her Dad nodded.

"Sometimes, when people are close, it doesn't matter that everything that passes between them isn't always perfect. It's the partnership that matters, and when the effort is made to close someone out, even if it's out of concern for that person…the whole foundation suffers, do you understand?"

She frowned. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Her father sighed. "You have to give Agent Booth both the good and the bad, sweetie. You'd do the same for him, right?"  
She smiled, thinking of a sunny afternoon in a cemetery, a couple of years ago. Of talking for hours with Booth of violence and horror, and finally, hope.

"I would. It does make sense. He takes both from me, and I take both from him. It's symmetrical."

"That's right." He nodded to her arm. "Good as new?"

She smiled at him. "Good as new. Thanks."

"Any time. Well, I'd better get going. And, uh…I'll call next time, huh?"

"That would be advisable."

He chuckled. "I'll see you around, Temperance."

"I'll see you, Dad."

She shook her head as the door closed, then whacked her forehead with her hand.

"Damnit!"

She crossed to her phone, scribbling a note on the message pad.

"Ask-about-Onetwo." She muttered, putting three exclamations after the sentence.

Then underlined it, for good measure.

Tapping the pen on the pad, she idly considered going back to bed, then jumped as her phone rang.

She glanced at the caller ID and rolled her eyes.

"My father has once again broken into my home, Booth. Because of you."

Booth ignored this. "Good chat?"

She blinked. "Well…yes. But that is not the point-"

"-So, Bones. I was thinking that this whole you driving me back from cases is really working out. Should make it a permanent thing, huh?"

Her jaw dropped. "I don't think so, Booth. I got no sleep the entire time, and if you had let me-"

"-Well, you had to do something other than gaze out the window and brood."

"I do not brood."

A muffled snort came down the phone line. "Babe, you're the definition of brooding."

She frowned. "Temperance does not mean 'to brood'."

"Not when she's having a beer with me, it doesn't. See you in fifteen?"

"Booth, it's eleven o clock in the morning."

"So?"

"So, it's not the time one traditionally indulges in alcohol."

"Bones. Do you want to see me now or not, huh?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Yes."

"So, it's eleven o clock in the morning. Big deal. Now, do not pull out that Moroccan crap, I'll bring the supplies. And hey, did you just get up? Your voice is all husky. Sexy."

She blinked, a half smile curving her mouth. "What?"

Pause. "Uh, I said did you just get up?"

She looked down.

Oh, crap. Pyjamas.

"Uh. No. I've been up awhile." Like seventeen minutes.

"Huh. Okay. Well, see you soon. Turn on that pitiful excuse for a TV you got, we'll find a game or something."

"Okay."

She disconnected.

Then hurried to the bedroom in search of clothes, ruminating idly on tonal differences and at what pitch voices became sexually attractive.

Fifteen minutes later, she opened her door to Booth, carrying beer and various potato chip packages.

He grinned at her, holding up the box of beer.

"So, Bones, you realise it's eleven fifteen in the morning."

She just stared at him, ready to kick him in places it was not healthy for a man to be kicked.

Then he winked, brushing past her.

"So, I brought munchies. Barbeque or salt and vinegar?"

She just shook her head as she closed the door, unable to stop the grin spreading across her face as she turned to watch him make himself at home in her apartment, opening her fridge, swiping a can of coke from the door.

"Bones? Decide. What do you want?"

She decided. "Both."

He grinned at her.

"Both it is."

Author's Note- Hope you enjoyed this! Have a fantastic week, guys, and muchos gracias a million and twelve for all reads and all reviews- they always put a huge smile on my dial for extremely large amounts of time. XD


	7. Odd relationships

DISCLAIMER: Don't own Bones. But will eventually own Season Two DVDs. Which really has no relevance whatsoever. Oh, well.

"Both it is." Booth ripped opened both packets of chips and held them out to her, grinning.

She shook her head at him, crossing to reach for a handful of chips.

"You know these probably have more fat content than an entire tub of butter."

Booth held the bags out of reach, staring at her in mock horror.

"Then I guess you'd better go for the carrots, Doctor Brennan."

She grabbed a packet off him. "I was just making a statement."

He shook his head at her, mimicking her. "You know statements don't go with chips and beer, unless it's 'Go team!' or 'Bad call, ref!'"

"Those are more exclamations, rather than…" She trailed off at Booth's pointed stare. "Okay, okay. I get it. Jeez."

"Points for the slang term, Bones, negative five for neglecting to turn on your television."

He grabbed her bag back off her and made for the living room.

She followed him. "Hey, I was eating those!"

"And increasing your fat content. I'm only thinking of you."

"Gee. Thanks."

Grinning, he tossed her a beer. "Increase your blood alcohol levels instead."

She settled into a corner of her couch, watching him flick through the channels, consciously ignoring his muttered comments on how her television was perfect, really. If you were an ant.

Which was ridiculous, anyway. Everyone knew that ants did not, in fact, watch television.

Booth dismissed various sports, then finally settled on an episode of _Jerry Springer_, which she pretended to watch, while trying to determine what she should tell Booth about Sully.

_If_ she should tell Booth about Sully.

She'd come to a decision this morning, about her answer to Sully's question about coming back into her life. She'd called him, leaving a message, of all things, on his voicemail.

She stared at the screen, nerves warring with reason, when she noticed Booth looking at her out the corner of her eye.

"What?"

He jumped, then smiled sheepishly and reached under the couch.

She stared at him in bemusement, until he pulled out a bat, handing it to her.

"Here. I kept forgetting to tell you where this was."

She took it, staring at him. "You had Onetwo?"

"Yeah."

"You took my bat?"

He shrugged, reaching for a handful of the chips she'd manage to re-obtain.

"Well, not so much 'took' as relocated, Bones."

She grabbed his hand.

"You were in on this with my father. You 'relocated' my personal property."

Unfazed, he dug into her bowl with his free hand.

"Look, didn't know you were so attached, okay? And since when do you name inanimate objects, anyway?"

The man had a point. She let go of his hand, defensive.

"Well. I've used it on two home invaders and my television, and it's well documented that-"

Booth held up a hand, eyeing her with amusement.

She stopped talking. "What?"

"That's how your television broke."

"No."

He raised a brow.

She sighed. "Yes."

Booth stared at her, delight evident in his features.

She did some fast calculations, figured it probably wasn't polite to kick him out for at least another half hour, so she sat back and regarded him, resigned to the teasing.

"I just, don't know what to do with that, Bones. So many possibilities. I could do your innate hatred for popular culture by lashing out at televisions?"

"No."

"Aversion to technology?"

"No, Booth."

"An extreme reaction to ex-boyfriends waltzing in like they own the place?"

She gaped at him. "Angela told you."

"Angela told me." He agreed, smirking at her.

She gripped the bat tighter, and Booth eyed her, warily reaching over for another handful of chips.

"Whoa, Bones, I'm sorry, huh?"

She spoke through gritted teeth. "I wasn't going to hit you, Booth. I was going to ignore you until you went away."

He smirked at her. "Percentage wise, how often does that work?"

She wrinkled her nose at him. "Twelve."

He cocked his head at her television, smiling at her.

"Then let's watch some good old American culture, huh?"

"Fine. But I'm not going to learn anything."

"Sure you will."

She raised a brow at him.

"What not to do with chairs and interpersonal relationships."

She nodded thoughtfully. "There is that."

She smiled at his chuckle and reached over to grab his bowl of chips.

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, before Booth stretched, hooking his arms along the back of the couch, looking over at her with…what?

A blank expression. His neutral, unemotional, cop face.

"So, you're going to choose Sully, huh?"

"That sentence indicates I have more than one person to choose from."

Booth nodded, glancing away. "Mmm. It does seem to indicate that. So when does the great wanderer return?"

She was quiet. He nudged her shoulder gently with his knuckles.

"Bones? When's Sully coming back?"

"He's not going to."

He blinked, looking nonplussed. "What?"

"Well, I mean, conceivably he might come back, we didn't discuss his itinerary for the foreseeable-"

Booth held up a hand, speaking gently. "Bones. Just tell me, huh?"

She sighed, unconsciously curling tighter on the couch. "I told him if he was going to come back for me, I wouldn't be there. I abandoned Sully. On his voicemail."

"On his what?"

"On his voicemail, you know, you call, if someone's not there-"

"-I know, Bones. I meant…why?"

She kept her eyes on her hands, clenched tightly in her lap. "Well, he wasn't there, and I didn't want him to see I'd called and have him not _know_. I at least owe him that. And I'll call him tonight and speak to him personally. I just…if it was me, I'd want to know. No waiting. No worrying."

Booth stroked her shoulder, offering comfort.

"I know, Bones. I know. I think you did a good thing. But…uh, I thought you two…well, you seemed pretty close."

"We are! We were, I just…I can't be who he wants me to be. I can't focus on him the way I do on my work. I can't be that passionate person."  
"From what Sully said, you were pretty…passionate."

Her head shot up. Booth looked a little ill. He really shouldn't work so hard, she thought, even as she glared at him.

"Sully discussed our sex life with you?"

"What?! No! He just uh, mentioned offhand, that he thought you were pretty invested in the relationship. No sex was mentioned. None. Nothing."

"Oh. Okay."

Booth looked relieved. "So…you're okay?"

She looked at him. " I will be. I'm sorry, Booth. I know Sully is your friend."

"Who, Sully?" He flapped a hand. "Nah, never liked the guy. Hate him."

She smiled a little. "No, you don't. And neither do I. I love Sully. I love that he sees me…"She glanced at Booth, "Almost like you do. So clearly, without flinching."

"Nope. No flinching here. But…" He waved a hand, urging her to continue.

"But I'm not _in love_ with him. I miss him, but it's not like there's a part of me missing, or my heart is broken, or I can't eat or sleep less than the required amount…or any one of those ridiculous clichés."

She sighed. "Angela says when you're in love, nothing matters but being with that person, and my Dad says you have to feel that love, even when the object of your affection is thousands of miles away...and I seem to be unable to feel it."

And she hated that fact, hated that once again, people were going to look at her and think she couldn't feel, couldn't have emotions when all she was trying to do was stay true to what she couldn't name, but felt so deeply she knew it to the marrow of her bones.

"Why didn't you ask me?" Booth's voice was quiet.

She glanced at him. He was observing the television with careful intensity, and she reached out to lay a hand on his arm, still flung across the back of the couch.

He felt the touch and met her gaze.

"I didn't want you to think my mind was elsewhere. I know I told you when Sully called, on the case last week, but I did that out of shock, and because I've become used to telling you…well, a lot of things. And then I was worried you thought I wasn't completely invested in being with you. I didn't want you to worry." She finished, averting her gaze, knowing she'd said it wrong, said it badly.

He shifted to face her, reaching to cover her hand with his own.

"It's when you don't tell me things I worry, Bones. I take the good with the bad, Bones. You should know that by now."

She did, rationally. She was going to have to keep an eye on that. She was doing an awful lot of thinking with her heart, lately.

"That what my father said."  
"You should listen to your father, Bones."

"Right after he broke in to my apartment for the umpteenth time."

"Mmm."

"When _you_ told him to."

He smirked at her. "Yeah, well, I am a man of many and varied associations, Bones."

"Well, I have now built associations with many and varied locksmiths."

"How well has that worked out for you?" He inquired, raising a brow innocently.

She glared at him. "It will."

"Sure it will."

"It will! I just have to find a bigger lock."

"What is with women and the whole bigger is better, thing?"

"Well, I know_ you _don't subscribe to that philosophy-"

He held up a hand, looking at her with something akin to panic. "-Who says I don't subscribe? Where did you get that information? Because let me tell you for damn sure, Bones, _bigger_ is a prominent word in my personal vocabulary, if you know what I mean."

She stared at him. "I don't know what you mean. And I just meant that you keep saying my gun is ostentatious and attention-drawing, and if I have to have one make it less empire state and more corner shop."

He sat back, looking embarrassed. "Oh."

"What were you talking about?"

"Nothing. So. How bout that Jerry Springer?"

She glanced back at the television, accepting the beer Booth handed her.

"It features very odd relationships."

Booth smiled at her. "It sure does."

Author's note: So, hands up a progression of the Booth/Brennan relationship, with special guest appearances by Brennan's Dad? Who was severely neglected in this chapter, I know I hope you guys enjoyed this! Have a wunnerful week, people, and I very much, as usual, appreciate all the people that take the time to read, as well as those that take more time to review! Ciao!


	8. Conversations

DISCLAIMER: Don't own, but give me a job there, I need the money. I'll sweep floors! I'm a great floor sweeper, and I'm sure it pays better than my current job…

Booth came to stand quietly in the doorway of her darkened office, and she watched him from the cover of her position on the couch, where he'd sent her to grab a couple of hours sleep.

She hadn't slept.

Things had been a little off between them lately, the swell and ebb of the connection between them a little fiercer, a little harder lately.

Quick to hurt, quick to soothe and offer comfort, she was a little leery of the intensity but caught up in it all the same, never sure if she was allowing the connection to deepen or if she was being pulled along, caught up in the way she felt when he watched her, smiled at her.

Talked to her.

"Bones, you up?"

Spoken softly, almost like he didn't want to wake her.

She stayed silent, watching his form as he made his way silently to the foot of the couch.

"You're up."

An unnecessary statement; he could see, even in the dim light of the office, she was awake.

Which meant he was uncomfortable- trying to break the weight of the words passed between them lately. Trying to reclaim familiar ground.

She knew. She was doing the same thing. And yet…

"Would you have let me go?"

He blinked. "What?"

"With Sully. Would you have let me go?"

He cocked his head, trying to understand where this was coming from. She couldn't help him; she wasn't entirely sure, either.

"I don't know. Why?"

She threw back the blanket, suddenly impatient; with him, with herself.

Shrugging, she skirted around him to switch on the light, ignoring the weight of the stare she felt drilling into her back.

"I just wondered. That's all."

"Huh."

She met his gaze. _Just let it go, Booth. Let it go._

"So all these months later, you're wondering this."

She sighed. Obviously she couldn't count on Booth to read her mind _all_ the time.

But still.

"Don't worry about it, okay? Did you get those figures for me?"

He went to hand her the file he was holding, then pulled it back a little when she reached for it.

She crossed her arms and waited for it. Waited.

"Did you sleep?"

She raised a brow at him.

"Yes."

He quirked the side of his mouth at her, then shook his head sadly.

"Your Dad said you couldn't nap. Said it had to be all or nothing, with you."

She stared at him. "How did you know that?"

"When I was explaining to him, after he basically told me I wasn't taking good enough care of you, that I made you take regular naps."

She blinked at him, torn between anger at being discussed like that, like she was five, for goodness' sake, and-

"-Then he had the gall to say I was really bad at knowing when you were lying to me, but considering I knew you'd just lay there _thinking_-"

"-What is so wrong with thinking?"

He handed her the folder. "When you think,_ I_ suffer for it."

Her mouth dropped open. "That is grossly unfair."

"No, what is grossly unfair is that you still look good after no sleep, and I look like I've been run over. Several times."

She glanced up from flicking through the file to run an appraising eye over his form.

"Not several times."

Booth smiled at her.

She smirked at him.

"Maybe once."

"Thanks, Bones."

"You're welcome. I need to talk to Hodgins about this."

"Bones."

She paused on her way out the door.

"I don't know if I would have let you go…but I'm glad you stayed."

She smiled, turning to look him in the eye. "Why?"

He shrugged.

"Well, you know. I'd miss you if you weren't here. "

"Me too."

He smirked at her. "Plus, you know. Who'd be here to yell at me? Everyone else is afraid of me."

She made a sound of dissent. "They're not afraid of you. They just know you're mine to yell at."

He looked at her.

Oh. "Anthropologically speaking."

He smiled. "Of course."

She wrinkled her nose at him, coming to a decision.

It didn't matter, for now, this push and pull between them. It was important only that he was here, and so was she.

She walked out the door, knowing he would follow.

Author's Note- I know, I know, haven't updated in a while- life keeps getting in the way! And yes, pitiful excuse for a chapter, but will improve in time! Thanks for putting up with me, and also thanks for reading and reviewing.

Have a great week!

Kickstergal


	9. A question of burning

DISCLAIMER: Don't own it. Headache-making material, this owning of stuff business, so would rather just write about other people's characters : )

_Booth's POV_

He looked at her, sometimes, and wondered.

The way she laughed, the way she smiled, the way her chin came up in determination when he challenged her.

He didn't know what it meant that he couldn't get her out of his head.

Some days, he was happy for her to be there. When he'd look at her, or she'd look at him, and he had the undeniable feeling that here in this moment, with this woman, he was home.

Other days, when she'd unintentionally annoyed the hell out of him, (or when she'd intentionally annoyed the hell out of him, which she was getting worryingly good at) he'd curse all the forces that had conspired to give him the misfortune of working with such a stubborn, hard headed-

Beautiful woman.

That was the other thing. Lately, he'd been interrupting his own inner monologue. Mostly when he was trying to convince himself he wasn't interested. He'd be just about there, and then an image would pop up.

Bones, trying hard not to laugh at one of his jokes, a smile twitching at the corner of her mouth.

Bones, smiling at him when they shared a quiet moment after a hard case.

Bones glaring at him, hands on hips, her eyes flashing in irritation.

Bones on his couch, frowning in concentration, trying to figure out a TV show he'd coerced her into watching.

Bones in his kitchen, mocking his food choices.

Bones in his arms.

Bones in his bed.

That last one wasn't so much memory as repressed desire, but it worked on his heart, on his libido, just as well as the real memories, if not better. Which only served to convince him he was cracking up.

Maybe he'd ask Gordon Gordon. But the man would just ask questions, strip this down to the heart of the matter. _Do you love her? Do you want to further your relationship with Temperance Brennan?_

Him and Bones, they had a connection, sure.

They were friends, partners- it was almost inevitable they had such a close bond.

But love?

Sure, he'd thought about it.

What it would be like, waking up and having her there.

What it would be like, holding her underneath his body, watching her eyes change, darken with lust, go unfocused and hazy with desire.

But it was thoughts like _that_, right there, that were going to get him, both of them hurt.

It was his job to protect her, and how safe would she be if his rational mind, his smart, instinctive thinking was compromised by thoughts of tearing her out of that god-awful blue lab coat and taking her until they both lost themselves.

Oh, man. He was so screwed.

"Booth?"

A light tapping on his arm.

He opened his eyes.

She stood there studying him, a slight crease forming between her eyes.

"I've been looking for you everywhere. I thought…I was worried."

She looked exhausted. They were working a late case, against a killer who was targeting FBI agents.

So she'd hovered, all the while fervently denying she was hovering- finding excuses for him to stick around. Keeping him safe.

He smiled at her, then slung a friendly arm around her shoulder, noticing, then dismissing, as usual, how neatly they fit together.

"Don't worry, Bones."

Together, whatever happened, they'd figure it out. That's what partners did.

"I'm right here. What, you thought I was going to run away, with my own personal bodyguard looking for me?"

She wrinkled her nose at him, and whacked him lightly.

"Just stay close, Booth. Okay?"

He studied her, seeing the emotion beneath the control she was showing for his benefit.

"Yeah, Bones." He smiled at her. "I'll stay. I promise."

Frying pan. Fire.

That came to mind a lot, when he thought of progressing their relationship.

But, really, what was the difference?

Maybe he'd been playing it a little safe, lately.

Maybe it was time to burn.

_Brennan's POV_

She stalked the corridors of the Jeffersonian, scattering night security and late-working employees in her wake.

Damn the man, where _was_ he?  
Telling herself the hitch in her breathing was due to her increased pace, and _not_ due to the fact that pig-headed partner of hers had gone off without her, she opened a door, scanned the room, slammed the door. Opened a door, scanned, slammed. Repeat.

Six doors later, she shoved back her hair, frustrated, then sighed.

She was being unfair.

Pigs, in her experience, had never demonstrated the stubbornness often displayed by Seely Booth.

She'd kept him with her today, on invented pretexts and half-truths, trying to keep him safe, while they tried to solve a case against a killer targeting the FBI.

And he'd stayed, though she'd seen him chafing at the restriction, needing to be at the centre of the action, help his team, protect the organization he loved so fiercely.

He'd stayed, because she'd asked him to.

She slammed another door open, startling a professor in the midst of a pile of notebooks. No Booth, however.

Murmuring an apology, she continued down the hall, heading towards the stairwell that would lead her to the roof.

Didn't he know this was hard on her, too? She _knew_ how desperately he wanted to solve the case, set things right. She _knew_ his sense of loyalty to her prevented him leaving, and the fact that she was standing in his way made her heart hurt in ways she didn't want to think about, right now.

The basic reason, the truth, the _fact_ was, she wanted him to be safe more than she wanted him to do his job.

Maybe that was wrong, or selfish, but there it was, at least for this case, in this moment, when she was searching so hard for the one person she couldn't lose.

She ascended the stairway to the roof, muttering.

She was _so_ going to kick his ass.

The door was open.

Holding her breath, she came to lean in the doorway.

And there he was.

Standing, hands on hips, gazing at the stars.

And, damn it all to hypothetical hell, she stopped being angry, and started being relieved.

No, wait.

The anger mixed with the relief, churning inside her, along with something else, some other emotion, until she gave up on trying to analyse her feelings and focussed instead on getting him inside.

She stepped forward, frowning when he didn't glance up as he normally would. He must be more tired than she'd thought.

"Booth." She tapped his hand lightly, her stomach tightening as he met her gaze.

Something in that look. Something dangerous and hungry and…wanting.

Until he blinked, and became Booth again, giving her a tired smile.

She took a breath, unsteady after that gaze, unsteady as the ache of worry in her chest dissolved to be replaced by something similar to what she'd seen in Booth's eyes.

"I-I've been looking for you everywhere. I thought…I was worried."

His gaze flickered to her mouth for a second as she spoke, and she thought, idly, as he slung an arm around her shoulders, how confusing it was both to welcome and reject the warm, buzzing feeling she got sometimes when he looked at her, touched her.

Then he smiled at her, and she forgot to be confused.

"Don't worry, Bones."

She made a sound of dissent, and he poked her in the side as they made their way towards the stairs.

"I'm right here. What, you thought I was going to run away, with my personal bodyguard looking for me?"

She whacked his hand away, wrinkling her nose at him.

"Just stay close, Booth. Okay?"

She stared at him, willing him to forgive her this weakness, this need to have him safe. Needing him to understand.

He smiled at her, and she knew he got it, before he spoke the words.

"Yeah, Bones. I'll stay close. I promise."

She sighed, content. Tonight, they'd focus on the case, the facts, justice, truth, and reason.

Tomorrow, maybe, or the moment she found the courage, they could focus on those feelings, those flickers that, she suspected, would flare bright and hot with the right encouragement.

The question was, did she want to burn?

Author's Note- A little sum'n different this chap, with the two POV's. And yes, I realise that Brennan's father is mentioned at no point whatsoever in this chapter. Will make up for this travesty next chapter!

I wanted to say thanks also to all those who continuously read, review and favourite my stuff, you've got no idea how cool this is, so big imaginary Season Two box sets to you all…possibly not as good as actual Season Two box sets, but one must take what one can get. : ) Have a great week!


	10. Interesting Conversations

Temperance Brennan sat quite still, curled on a ball on her couch, pondering her sex life. Two things were unusual about this situation, she thought, exhaling in frustration.

One, the fact she _was_ sitting quite still, doing almost nothing.

This had not happened in at least the past six months, owing to the fact she had been run off her feet with responsibilities to the Jeffersonian, Angela dragging her out to improve her social skills, _Booth_ dragging her out to improve her social skills, and consequently Zack plaguing her with questions about improving his social skills, as if she'd picked up some kind of special knowledge or been initiated into some mysterious organization pertaining to said social skills. This then led to Hodgin's weighing in with a comparison between Zack's social skills and several species of bottom-dwelling life-forms.

Granted, that had only happened the once, but then she'd been busy explaining to Cam how the entire floor of Hodgin's office had ended up covered in a sticky chemical substance which, interestingly enough, only Zack had the knowledge to remove.

If she added that to her continued caseload with Booth, her own forays into the study of human relations and habits, and last, but by no mean less aggravating, the continued break-ins of her father into her home, she vaguely surprised was sitting so still now.

But that was the other part of this situation.

Her estranged, absentee, criminal father was the one who'd asked about her sexual habits.

"Was there a particular _reason_ you wanted to know how sexually active I am?" She inquired, raising a perplexed brow in the direction of her father, who sat opposite her, looking sorry he'd ever raised the topic.

"Look, honey, all I asked was whether you where playing the field lately. You know me, I'm not happy unless I have someone to scare the living daylights out of."

Her Dad shrugged, then winked at her.

"I figure a prospective partner of yours would suit my purposes just fine."

She lifted a shoulder in a shrug, slowly, still lost in thought.

"Well, I don't have anyone in my life you could intimidate."

She paused, then amended that statement.

"I don't have anyone in my life I'd _let_ you intimidate."

He father grinned at her. "What about Booth? Surely, you're sick enough of him by now that I can have a go?"

She simply looked at him.

He sighed. "I know, I know. Hands off, right? I'm just trying to show I'm interested in your life, Temperance."

She shook her head. "No, it's not that. It's just that your reasoning is flawed, Dad. Booth wouldn't let you intimidate him. He respects you as an adversary, but he's not afraid of you."

She frowned. "And I'm not sick of Booth. Why would I be sick of Booth?"

Her father chuckled. "No reason. You two seem to fight an awful lot, that's all. Reminds me of your mother and I."

She looked at him, startled.

"What?"  
"You mother and I. Damn, when she was angry she was hellfire and brimstone, that woman."  
She frowned. "That's not a very nice-"

Her father laughed, interrupting her.

"-I loved her for it, honey. I loved her for her passion, for her determination, for her whole-hearted belief that she was right, even when I was the one who had his head screwed on straight."

She looked at him, amused. "Did you tell her she was wrong?"

Her father looked at her, a disbelieving expression on his face. "Do I look insane?"

She frowned. "No, but sometimes you do exhibit the characteristics of-"

"-I meant that if I disagreed with your mother, except when it was important, she'd generally cut me a new one."

She blinked. "Oh."

Her father looked amused. "You mean to tell me Booth actually dares to disagree with you?"

She crossed her arms, disgruntled. "Yes."

"And he's still living? Boy, you must really like the man."

She shrugged. "Well, I prefer to place my trust in someone who says what he thinks, rather than someone that agrees with me all the time."

"True."

She frowned, thinking back to last week, when he'd tried to put in place a new regime, the main theme of which was that she left the office at night at the exact time he told her to.

"However, sometimes I think he argues with me just to see what I'll do."

She_ knew_ he did.

Which was why, after he'd put forth the reasons why she should listen to him, ranging from her health to because he said so, she'd simply shaken her head slowly at his expectant look, and uttered five words.

"I don't think so, Booth."

He'd just grinned at her, and shrugged. "Same time next week then. Round one to Bones. Don't count on it staying that way for long."  
"What are you grinning at?"

Her father's voice jolted her back to the present.

"Oh. Booth. He's just- he's aggravating. He tells me what to do all the time, he watches over me like, well…a parent."

She glanced at her Dad, and at his shrug, indicating he wasn't offended by her comparison, continued.

"He likes pirates, has recently started judging bug races, eats horrible food and still stays…ah, fit."

"He's annoying." Her Dad summarized for her, saving her from having to explain why thinking of just how fit Booth was made her cheeks warm up.

"Yes. But sometimes…a lot of times… he's the only person that makes sense to me. He's the only person that can make sense _of _me. He explains me to myself."

She shook her head, dissatisfied with the analogy. "I'm not being clear."

Her father spoke gently. "I think you're being perfectly clear. You love him."

He held up a hand as her head shot up, mouth opened to protest.

"You love him as a friend, as a confidante, as someone who is there for you when…when others aren't. You love him, because he can see you."

She relaxed back against the couch. "Yes."

They sat in silence for a moment, before her Dad spoke.

"So, really no person of yours I can interrogate?"

"I told you, Booth doesn't scare easily."

Her Dad nodded slowly, seeming to agree with her.

"Ah, _Booth_ doesn't scare easily."

She frowned. "That's what I said."

"Yes, you did." Her Dad stood up, suddenly purposeful. "Well, I'd better be off."

He made to go towards the door, then came to stand looking down at her.

She smiled in confusion. "What?"

"There's another reason Booth isn't afraid of me, honey. It's not just because I'm damned good at what I do."

She looked at him, searching his gaze. 'It's not?"

"Booth respects me, because I'm _your_ father. If I wasn't, you think I'd be walking free right now? You can't tell me I'm standing here in front of you because Booth's that bad at his job. "

She tried to deny it, tried to form the words, but failed. "I can't tell you that."

Her father smiled, his gaze too understanding for her liking.

"You see? And I gotta tell you, honey, much as I can't stand to admit it, it's only a matter of time. Booth is letting us have this time…"

He waited for her to brush angrily at the tears forming, despite the fact she'd told herself she wouldn't cry when this came up.

"…but he's still an honourable man, and his honour tells him justice has to be done."

A hand came to cover her own, to wipe away the tears she was crying for him. For the relationship she'd never thought she would regain.

"I'll be around, honey. You know that. And I love you."

She let herself be pulled to her feet, and enveloped in a hug. Allowed herself to just be a daughter, as moments passed where she felt safe, and comforted.

When she felt as secure as she did when she was held by Booth.

She took a deep breath, then whispered four words into the lapels of her father's jacket.

"I love you, too."

"Good. That's good." Her father sounded a little hoarse.

They drew back, looking at each other.

She was the first to break away.

"I'll see you around, Dad."

He smiled at her. "Yeah, you will. And you tell Booth I said I'll talk to him soon."

"You will?"

"Yeah. Don't worry, honey, it's not going to be an interrogation or anything."  
He walked out, waving a hand over his shoulder.

An odd thing to say, she thought, looking after him.

Shrugging, she went to call Booth, relay her father's message, maybe see if he wanted to share the cheesecake her Dad had brought over.

And maybe, just maybe let him tell her what time she could finish tomorrow night.

Author's Note: Booth and Max having interesting conversations next chap. This is so barely a story, I'm going to plan the next one out. But for now, we'll soldier on, there is an end in sight!

Thanks loads for all reviews and reads and favouriteses. Is awesome, like, a helluva lot.

Have a fantastic week!


	11. A man walks into a diner

DISCLAIMER: Don't own it, but if I had a dollar for very time I've said that, I could very possibly buy it…or a toaster.

A man walked into a small diner, took a good look around the room, then sauntered over to sit beside a younger man, who didn't look especially pleased to see him.

"Booth."

"Max."

Booth took a sip of his coffee.

Max signalled the waitress for a drink.

They both sat there, intent on seeing who could ignore the other for the longest possible period of time.

Finally, Booth sighed, in a well-I'll-be-the-bigger-man-here kind of way, and glanced at Bones' Dad.

"You know I can have twenty FBI agents here in three minutes, Max."

"I'll be long gone by then, Booth."  
Booth nodded casually, but a tense line appeared around his mouth, and his hand drifted slowly to his side, where his gun sat ready in its holster.

"I wouldn't be so sure of that, Max. Why don't you tell me why you're here interrupting my coffee break."

Max nodded back, just as casually, his eyes flicking once to Booth's side, then met his stare.

"Is my daughter interested in you?"

Booth froze in the middle of taking a sip of coffee, and carefully set the mug back on the counter.

"What?"

Max stared at him. "Is my daughter. Interested. In you."

Booth raised a brow at him, baring his teeth in a smile.

"Well. I'm an interesting kind of guy, Max. Don't see why not."

Max's fist clenched convulsively around the coffee the waitress handed him.

"Don't you be flippant with me, you little punk, I've got a lot of years on you."

Booth opened his mouth to reply, then thought better of it.

He cleared his throat. Once. Twice.

Then, "Is there a particular _reason_ you're asking me this?"

"Mainly so I can decide whether to shoot you, maim you, or just drop you in a ditch like the sorry putz you are."

Booth waited a beat, then asked spoke calmly, in a low, moderated tone.

"Did you just call me a putz?"

Max glared at him, then sighed.

"Yeah. Too much?"

"Little bit. Yeah."

"I've been waiting, since the day she was born, to say that to someone. That's something, huh?"

"Something, yeah. Especially since you took all those years to come up with _that_."

Max shrugged. "Okay, hotshot. Shall we try, have you slept with my daughter yet?"

Booth swallowed the coffee he'd just sipped, wincing as it scalded his throat.

"What? Sleeping? There's been no sleeping! Did she _say_ there was sleeping?"

"Temperance said nothing of the kind. But it's interesting that you would assume she did."

Booth loosed the collar of his tie. "Assume? No, no, no, I never assume anything with Bones."  
"Are you sure? So you're not assuming she's going to jump into bed with you because you have this penchant for being her knight in shining armour whenever the need takes you?"

"Hey, what is this, attack the hero day? As I recall, Max, whenever Bones needed saving the person that _wasn't_ there for her is sitting across from me."

Max opened his mouth to speak, but Booth cut him off.

"And Bones has _never_ asked me to save her. Not once. She can take care of herself, most of the time, when she's not being stupid and going off on tangents. She just hasn't realised she -she doesn't have to save herself all the time."

"Because you'll be there?" Max said quietly.

Booth glared at him. "Because she has _friends_ who'll be there."

"That's too bad, Booth. I thought she could count on you."

"Bones can count on me. In fact she can count on me a damned sight more than she can count on _you_. I will always be there for her. You might be trying for Father of the Year or whatever, but what happens when I lock you up?"

Max went still. "I don't know."

"I'll tell you will what happen. I'll be there. I'll be there to pick up the pieces that _you _cause to fall. I'll be there to put her back together when she won't even admit she's fallen apart. So don't you tell me she can't count on me. You don't even know how to be counted on."

Max took a breath, then nodded. "Well, that's good."

Booth jerked his jacket off angrily. "How is that good?"

"Because my daughter's in love with you."

Booth went still, but every muscle remained tense, his eyes fixed on Max.

"She told you that?"

"No."

Ignored Booth's muttered "Oh. That's good," he continued, "But I see it, Agent Booth. In the way she looks when she talks about you, the way you both look when one of you enters a room. It's sickening to watch, really."

Booth raised his coffee in a toast. "Thanks."

Max moved a shoulder. "And it's exactly the way I used to behave with Ruth."

Booth cleared his throat. "Yeah, but I don't behave like some lovesick puppy with her."  
"Okay." Max said dryly.

"I don't. I mean, sure, its fun to see the way she reacts when I pretend not to listen, and making her laugh is no picnic because she doesn't get most jokes, but when she does…"

Max watched as Booth's mouth softened into a half smile, and shifted uncomfortably.

"Uh-huh."

Booth glared at him. "And your daughter can be a real pain in the ass, you know that? She'll never admit she's wrong, manages to come up with a hundred scientific explanations for why_ I_ tend to take "erroneous courses of action", goes all huffy when she's annoyed yet if I take out my frustrations on the squints all hell breaks loose."  
"Yep."

"-Which is of course just a figure of speech as your daughter does not believe in hell and thinks God is everyone's imaginary friend. And she's constantly irritating, went out and bought her own goddamned gun when I told her not to, but you can't yell at her, because she does this thing when she's annoyed where she wrinkles her nose and you just want to…"

"Kiss her."

Booth glared at Max, and sat back. 'Throttle her."

They both sat in silence, each lost in thought.

Max broke it. "So, you're in love with my daughter."

Booth nodded slowly, trying to reconcile the words to how he felt about his partner.

"I think I might be. Yeah."

Max nodded. "If you hurt her, I'll kill you."

Booth sighed, already contemplating how he was gonna bring up this little development in their relationship with Bones.

"Works for me."

Max clapped him on the shoulder, surprising him. "Good. Glad we had this chat."

Booth made a strangled sound somewhere between a laugh and a moan.

"Good man. I'll be around, Booth."  
Booth watched him exit the diner, then buried his head in his hands.

"Just what I needed to hear, sir."

**Author's Note:** The Talk next chapter. Sorry this is so tiny will attempt more next time. And by the way, so appreciate all the awesome reviews and favourites and just people taking the time to read. Is really fantastic and lovely so a wholehearted Thanks to you all!

Have a great week!


	12. Ice cream, you scream

DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Don't own. Has been added to the list of Stuff That Doesn't Belong To Kickstergal.

Temperance Brennan scowled as a hand whipped out from behind her, snagged her triple chocolate ice cream, _with _chocolate topping out of her hand, and whirled around to see her partner merrily chowing down on the ice cream she had, seconds ago, been the sole proprietor of.

"That," she said menacingly, "Was mine."

The partner in question just stared at her, not flinching in the least.

"Share and share alike, Bones."

She pointed a finger at him, licking the fingers of her other hand.

"Faulty logic, Booth. You've brought nothing to share with me."

Booth's gaze drifted to her mouth, then snapped back up to her eyes.

"Assume makes an ass out of you and me, Bones. Who says I didn't bring you anything?"

She blinked at him. "I understood fifty percent of that sentence."

"I think that means the ratio is improving." Booth muttered.

"_What?"_

Booth winced, almost imperceptibly. That particular tone meant she was working up to rant. A big one.  
He cleared his throat, polishing off her ice cream with a smile.

"Nothing, Bones. Come on, I brought you a present."

"And, what, you just expect me to forget you just commandeered my ice cream like it was one of your FBI vehicles?"

He stared at her. "I understood fifty percent of that sentence."

She stared sorrowfully back at him. "I'm sorry Booth, I think _your_ ratio is declining."

He shook his head, and pulled her out of her office.

"Smart ass."

She considered her options, then stated the obvious. "Ice cream stealer."

He pointed a finger at her. "Is it technically stealing if you've slobbered all over it already?"

She just raised a brow. "Slobber does not usually factor into criminal convictions if you already have a witness and a motive."

"No one else saw me do it- who's going to believe you?"  
"Ah, but you have a very vocal approval of all things chocolate. That's motive."

He glanced heavenward, trying not to smile as she rolled her eyes out of the corner of his vision.

"Alright. Can I make a plea bargain then? I give you your gift, you don't arrest me?"

"I don't have jurisdiction to arrest you." She pointed out.

"Okay, but 'likes chocolate' doesn't usually amount to motive, so we're even. I think."

She just raised a brow at him, then grinned as he tried a charm smile on her.

"Show me the gift first."

He sighed, and glanced at her.  
"You're better at negotiating," He informed her solemnly. "It's annoying."

"I learn from the best."

"Thanks, Bones."

There's no one more annoying than you."

He sighed again, louder. "Thanks, Bones."

She smirked at him. "You're welcome."

They exited the building and walked around the side to the gardens.

Booth guided her over the grass to stand in front of a tree he'd often find her sitting under, working, or writing, or staring over the grounds, thinking too much, and from the expression on her face when he'd saunter up to her and the way she'd hastily wipe under her eyes and give him a too-bright smile, feeling too much.

She stopped and stared at the tree.

"You're giving me a tree? Booth, this tree belongs to the Jefforsonian. It's a nice thought but-"

"-Bones."

"-What."

"-Look behind the tree."  
"Oh."

She followed the curve of the trunk, fingers trailing along the rough wood.

He watched her and tried not to imagine those hands on his body. Failed miserably.

"Oh. Booth. A picnic?"

"That's what it looks like, yeah."

He shifted, a little uncomfortable with the fact this was going to get passed through the squint grapevine to _his_ squints, who were inevitably going to make his life even more complicated than it was about to get.

And Bones looked like she was about to cry.

Enough, he decided.

"You thought I bought you a tree? Seriously?"

The tears were instantly replaced by a frown. Better.

"You were providing me with visual clues, Booth. We stopped in front of a tree. It was a natural conclusion to come to."

He stared at her, and smirked.

"You thought I bought you a tree."

She glared at him. "Shut up, Booth."

He gestured. "Food, Bones. Eat."

She sat. "You brought fruit salad."

"More nutritious than a tree." He joined her on the blanket, snagging a piece of the pizza he'd spent twenty minutes on the phone ordering, mainly because the pizza place was in fact a restaurant, and didn't make pizzas to take away.

But, what FBI agents wanted, FBI agents got.

"What are you looking so smug about?"

"You. Eating. No fights, no excuses of remains or complete lies that you ate the minute before I walked in. Just you. Eating."

She wrinkled her nose at him, making his stomach clench on the pizza he'd just consumed.

"I _had_ just eaten the other day, Booth. And it wouldn't be polite to refuse to join you after you went to so much effort."

"A muesli bar does not a meal make, Bones."  
She huffed and he laughed, his stomach doing the clenching thing again as she licked the last of the fruit juice from her lips.

They ate in silence for a while, taking in the quiet of the grounds and casting twin glances to the heavens as, in the distance, Hodgins ran frantically up the stairs of the Jefforsonian, obviously late back from his break.

Then Bones laughed quietly and he glanced at her.

She looked at him and gestured with her head.

Following her gaze he saw Angela sauntering up the steps behind Hodgins, well aware she was late back as well, and undeniably pleased about it.

"A lover's tryst." Bones stated.

"That's a polite way of putting it."

She sighed, watching Angela until she entered the building.

He cleared his throat, waiting until she met his gaze questioningly.

"You miss that?"

"What?"

He inclined his towards the building.

"That."

"I've never had a lover's tryst."

He scoffed. "Sure you have."

She scowled at him. "No, I haven't."

"What the hell was the boat thing, then? With…Sully."

Loath as he was to open _that_ can of worms, the point must be made.

She crossed her arms.

"_That_ was a romantic getaway."

"What's the difference?"

Now she looked confused. "Angela did explain it to me. I think it has something to do with the heat of the moment, rather than a planned rendezvous."

He laughed. "Only you would categorize types of passion."

"I think it's a very healthy way of identifying the type of relationship you're in. _Sully_, for example, was prone to planning our get togethers, as much as his world view seems to be one of spontaneity. I find that kind of contradiction fascinating."

Booth coughed. "Little boring though, right? I mean, there has to be some surprises."

She looked thoughtful. "Maybe." She looked down at their leftovers, and smiled at him.

"This was a nice surprise."

_And there's the __segue._

He smiled back, and reached to cover her hand where it rested on her thigh.

She jolted a little, then looked at him quizzically.

"You know, I'm a man of many talents, Bones."

"Ye-es." She stated, still looking at him like she was trying to work something out. Trying to work _him_ out.

Did she _have_ to look at him like he was a particularly complex science experiment? He thought, swallowing nervously.

"And, you know. You're a women of many talents."

"Yes." She stated more firmly, sitting up straighter.

Typical.  
"Well, I was thinking that relationships between men and women require considerable skill and talent."

"And usually respect and liking for one another, as well as a certain level of base impulses like sexual attraction and complementary libidos."

Oh god. He tried not to think about the fact that even her speaking about desire in such a cold, clinical way turned him on.

Then he tried not to think about just how complementary their libidos were. Could be.

When he finally met her gaze, he realised she'd slid her hand out of his grip and was watching him.

"Uhm. Yeah. That too."

"Where are you going with this, Booth?" She said slowly, still watching him with that gaze, that look that he couldn't quite decipher-

"-Well, I was thinking you might want to, maybe, just think about trying the idea of a- rela-"  
"-You know, I think I have a lot of work to do."

She stood up abruptly.

Dumbfounded, he stared up at her.  
She wouldn't meet his gaze, straightening her clothes while he strived for a nonchalant tone.

"Sure thing, Bones. Wouldn't be Tuesday without you having a lot of work to do."  
She only nodded, and headed for the Jefforsonian as he looked after her.

She stopped, abruptly, and spoke without turning.

"Thanks for the picnic, Booth."

He frowned at her back.

"Anytime, Bones."

He watched her take two more steps, stop, and saw the rise and fall of her shoulders as she took a breath.

"Hey, Booth?" She turned to look at him, shading her eyes from the sun.

"Yeah, Bones?"  
"I'll see you for breakfast tomorrow, right?"  
He raised a brow at her. _Normal. She wants normal_.

"Only if you stop ordering my food before I get there."  
She nodded, gave him a stiff smile, and walked back to the Jefforsonian at a pace most road runners would envy.

She was nervous, he decided, watching her. The idea he made her nervous was entertaining enough, but he was too busy cementing the look in her eyes when he'd caught her hand in his into his brain.  
Bones wasn't going to get away that easily, he decided, settling back on the grass, picking at the remains of the picnic and grinning at no one.

He'd wait for her nerves to settle, a little, before he stirred them some more.

He'd let her think she was safe, _they_ were safe, before he threw them both in the deep end.

Because the emotion he'd just seen in her eyes, beneath the fear, beneath the questions, had been desire.

**Author's note**: Brennan's reaction next up. Dun dun dun.

I'm having heaps of fun writing this, I hope you guys are enjoying it, too!

Thanks as always for the lovely reviews, reads, and favouriteses, and I hope everybody has a fantastic week.


	13. Balance

DISCLAIMER: Do not own. As usual. Nuff said. Actually, got a Jeffersonian mug for my birthday yesterday, so kind of sort of own a small part. A little.

She was hot, her hands were shaking, she felt like her heart was going to explode, and was currently debating the wisdom of maiming a member of her staff in the kind of furious inner debate one has when truly, truly angry.

Temperance Brennan was having an emotional moment.

She took a breath.

"But, _why_ didn't you check to see the solution contained the correct components before pouring it over my evidence?"

The student she was staring at swallowed.

"But Dr Brennan, _you're _the one that gave me the quantities of components."

Silence.

She blinked at the student.

The student stared back.

She took another breath.

"Well, if I told you to drop off a bridge would you do it?"

The student stared back her.

"Is this one of those questions you ask when you want to grade me on my reply?"  
She pointed to the exit. "Go."

The student scurried past her, giving her a wide berth.

She sat down at her desk, staring at the report the student had handed her.

She'd made a mistake. She'd actually made a mistake.

Now she had to explain to her partner why she'd destroyed the only piece of evidence they had for the case they were working on.

She straightened her shoulders, and picked up the phone.

_You can do this. You're a big girl. You spoke with him at breakfast. Just because he tried to bring up the subject of relationship yesterday does not mean you can't be normal now._

She put down the phone without dialling.

He _had_ been normal at breakfast. Had arrived late, made jokes, stolen half her bacon and all of her coffee. Normal.

But he'd looked at her, and she'd seen what he didn't say.

He knew she was running away. He was giving her space.

But he sure as hypothetical hell wasn't going to make it easy.

She could tell that, because he'd done other things at breakfast.

Like when he'd run a casual finger along her arm, giving her a teasing smile, and she'd had to work at keeping her breathing even.

And when he'd helped her on with her jacket, and his hands had rested on her shoulders few seconds too long.

Little looks, little touches. A lot of trouble, for her.

She sighed, dialled Booth's number, punching the buttons a little too hard.

"So, what do you have for me, Bones?"

She winced. "Nothing?"

Pause. "Are you asking me if we have nothing or are you telling me we have nothing?"  
"We have nothing."

"Bones, you told me you could prove, beyond reasonable doubt that our guy committed this murder using that evidence."

"I know what I told you, Booth." She snapped, tapping her pen on the desk a little louder than strictly necessary.

"Then what happened, Bones?" Booth, using his toddler voice. Like she was two.

She blew out a breath. "I kind of…overcooked it."

Silence. "What?"

"I gave the wrong components of a formula to one of my students and thus the evidence, analogically speaking, became overcooked."

"You overcooked evidence."  
She gritted her teeth. "Yes."

She could practically see the pissed-off expression on his face.

"Booth? Are you still there?"

"Okay, well. Nothing we can do now. I'm heading home. I'll see you later, Bones."

"-I-"

He hung up.

"He hung up." She said to the air in vague disbelief.

They used to do that, during the early stages of their partnership, when he was angry, or she was angry. But they had too much respect for each other now. Didn't they?

And, now she was thinking clearly about it, this was really all his fault.

She nodded, pressing her lips together. Decided.

"Okay. You want to do this? Let's do this."

Temperance Brennan strode out of her office. A woman on a mission.

Thirty minutes later, she strode up the front steps to Booth's place.

Pounded on the door.

"Booth? Booth, open up."

Booth opened the door.

"Bones, are you okay?"

She pushed past him into his living room.

"No, I am not okay." She pointed a finger at him. "You made me destroy evidence."

Booth raised a brow at her. "Ah, what now?"

"You. Made me. Destroy evidence."  
He shut the door and approached her very slowly.

"Bones, last I checked I wasn't a forensic anthropologist."

"And last I checked we weren't dating!"

Oops. She hadn't meant to say that.

"What did you just say?"  
She didn't look at him, finding the patterns on his couch cushions highly interesting and on the whole a lot less dangerous than the look she knew she was going to see in his eyes.

"Uhm. You destroyed evidence."

"After that."

"Nothing."

He sighed. Loudly.

"Bones."

She folded her arms tighter. "What?"

"Sit."

She sat.

Booth sat down across from her.

"Now, what is this really about?"

She jumped up again. Started pacing.

"You! You give me this wonderful picnic, and then you-you touch me and start spouting your talents like it was a job interview, and then you just expect me to be able to concentrate at work, when…this is all your fault."  
He watched her from his position on the couch.

"Bones, all I said was that we had complementary talents, and you know what, I didn't get say anything else because you ran away."

She stopped pacing.

"I did not run away."

"Bones, you were doing the best impression of an escaped convict I've seen in ages."

She sighed. She_ had _run away.

She'd known this was coming. Thought about it, sometimes in anticipation, sometimes in trepidation. Always with a sense of inevitability.

But he'd put his hand on her thigh, and along with the jolt of pleasure it had brought and the understanding she liked his hands on her, she'd understood that things were going to change.

And with that, there was the possibility that eventually, he'd be lost to her because of that change.

So she'd run.

"Bones. Talk to me, huh?"

She jumped at his gentle words and met his gaze, analysing it.

Annoyance, frustration, amusement. Understanding. A lot of understanding.

"Okay. I might have panicked when you brought up this relationship…thing."

"Why?"

He looked genuinely puzzled, which coupled with the fact that he could usually read her mind with an impressive rate of success, annoyed her enough to yell at him.

"Because, Booth! You look at me like I'm everything! You look at me and I feel like if I walk away, if I look away, I'm nothing."

"You're not nothing."

"I know that. But this…what we have, it's powerful. It has power, and sometimes it's wonderful, and other times…" She looked at him, spread her hands. "It's terrifying."

He stood up, paused when she took a small step back.

"Bones, I know it is. Do you think this is easy for me?"  
Her chin came up as she glared at him.

"Yes."

He stared at her in disbelief.

"Bones, I have your father threatening to throw me in a ditch, the entire squint network reporting on my every move, and every second guy at work is giving me tips on how to woo you."

Her lips twitched. "Woo me?"

He grinned back.

"Sure, well, we're a romantic bunch of guys, you know?"

"I know."

They looked at each other, and she sighed, taking a step back towards him.

"I just…Booth, what if we lose our balance? What if we can't do this? We got our partnership, our professional synchronicity back on track, but this? I don't know."

She shrugged, glancing at him wryly.

"Life was definitely not this complicated a few weeks ago."

He shrugged, mimicking her.

"Sure it was. It was just a different kind of complicated."  
He took a step towards her. "And this? This...partnership we're talking about? It's a different kind of balance, Bones. That's all."

She looked at him. Really, really looked at him. Ran her eyes over his body and her mind over his heart. She knew this man, inside and out. Except, she didn't.

She didn't know what it was like to wake up next to him, to curl against him in the night. Didn't know what it felt like to hear him sing in the shower, or bring her coffee in bed. She didn't know how to act in those situations, and still be her, because once you brought sex into the bargain, things changed.

"I used to know what to say to you. I used to know that even if I said the wrong thing it didn't matter, because it would be okay. Booth, I'm worried that if I say things to you now it won't be right, or you won't take them the same way because we're emotionally engaged."

He shifted slightly, and she saw the way he was looking at her. Like she was a puzzle, and he had the final piece. She flashed on his hand on her thigh yesterday and swallowed. Hard.

"What do you want to say to me?"

"I…don't know."

"Wanna give it a go, here, Bones?" He was using the toddler voice again.

She looked at him, understood this was hard for him, too.  
"I like the way you look at me." She muttered.

He blinked. "What?"

"I like the way you look. At me."

He took a breath. "Okay."

"And how you hug me when I don't ask for it. And when I do ask for it."  
He shrugged. "That's me. Mr Nice Guy."

"No, Booth, it's more than that. You look at me… and you know who I am. I've never had that before and…I like it."

"That's good. Cos I'd hate to thing I hugged you all those times and you hated it."  
"No! It was really…nice."  
She glanced at him, saw the laughter in his eyes. "Oh, very amusing."

"Sorry, Bones. Had to be said. Look, this is just a…step. We already like each other, there's already chemistry…"

He was waiting for her to deny it.

Because she was nobody's fool, especially taking into consideration the way he was looking at her, she nodded.

"…And, even if we do this, the foundation, the effort that we've put into this, it's going to count, Bones."

She searched his gaze, needing the reassurance. "Yeah?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I mean, your title for the next week is gonna be Destroyer of Evidence, so I wouldn't worry too much about that."

"That is not funny." But she couldn't help but grin, anyway.

"Sure it is, Bones."

And just like that, as he said her name, everything fell into place. He was right. They had balance, they were in sync. If they did this, they'd just have to adjust. Adapt their equilibrium.

He was close enough to touch now, if she took a couple of steps in the right direction.

"I'm sorry I ran away, Booth. It just hit me that we'd have to do this…for real. No stepping back."

"No stepping back." Booth stepped forward, his eyes on her.

Her stomach tightened and she stilled, a deer in the headlights.

"In fact, Bones, one might say we'd be using more of a forward momentum…thing."

Her gaze drifted to his mouth.

"Forward momentum." She agreed.

"So, let's try this." He opened his arms. "Come here."

She stepped into his embrace, exhaling slowly as his hands began to run slowly along her spine.

"Still alive, Bones?" He spoke into her ear, and she drew back slightly to glare at him, ignoring the goose bumps rising along her neck.

"Just."  
His hands travelled down to her wrists, and his thumbs pressed lightly at her pulse points.

"Pulse says otherwise."  
She shrugged, struggling to keep her voice even. "Emotional trauma."

"Huh."

He tangled a hand in her hair, bringing his face close to hers, so she had no choice but to look at him, feel him.  
"Maybe, slight physical response as well." She amended, barely breathing as his gaze travelled from her eyes to her mouth.

"Mmm." He glanced at her, asking, still. Making sure she felt safe.

She looked at him, then brought her mouth to his. _Yes._

And fell, as his mouth explored hers. Fell, as his hands traced her body and she slid her palms under his shirt. Fell, as he nipped the base of her neck and she couldn't stop her toes from curling. Fell, as she listened to words and half sentences he whispered to her, in between kisses.

As they lay tangled on his couch some time later, each too involved in the other to even think about moving, he huffed a laugh and drew back to look at her.

She blinked at him, struggling to remember how words were formed.

"What?"

"Still balanced, Bones?"

She considered, as his hands began to trace her spine again.

She stretched under him, arching her body against his, and smiled at the sound he made.

Bringing her hand up, she laid it along the side of his face, watching him.  
She smiled. "It's a different kind of balance, Booth."

**Author's Note:** Well. There you go. Hope you enjoyed. Wonder how Brennan's Dad is going to react. I mean giving one's grudging blessing and actually acting upon one's grudging blessing are two very, very different things.

Thanks a million for all reviews, reads and favouriteses- I love hearing what you think.

Have a fantastic week!


	14. That's my girl

DISCLAIMER: I have no claim on these characters, although, clearly, they have a claim on me…

Temperance Brennan was concentrating very, very hard on becoming invisible.

Not that she believed in such far fetched flights of fancy, or validated the impossible mechanics of the human body it would take to actually disappear into ones surroundings without visible trace.

She sighed.

But the wish was there, nonetheless.

Funny, she'd never appreciated wishing, until she'd met Booth.

And now, damn the man, he'd somehow managed to be very, very late to this little rendezvous with her father.

All of which meant Booth would be wishing he was invisible, _and_ a hundred miles away, when she got through with him.

Her father studied her from across the diner table.

"So, how long has this been…going on?"

She shrank a little in her seat. "A while."

Her father raised a brow. "A while."

She shrank a little further. "A few weeks. It's no big deal, Dad."

"You didn't think it would be polite to let me know?"  
She sat up, glaring at him. "Well, considering I'm a grown woman-"

"-I haven't finished."

She opened her mouth. Shut it.

"Now, I know I don't have a hell of a lot of leeway with you-"  
She smiled insincerely at him. "Oh, I don't know, Dad. You certainly have the freedom to leave. Right now."

Her Dad laughed. "And miss being able to scare the hell out of Booth, make you severely uncomfortable, and have one hell of tale to tell to your brother? Forgive me, sweetie, but you've got to be kidding."

She stared at him. "You're not going to tell Russ."  
"Pretty sure I am."

They stared at each other for one beat. Two.

Then she sighed and sat back. "What do you want?"

"To get through this meeting without either of you throwing me out. And, you know. Entrance to your apartment without me having to break in nine times out of ten would be nice."

She held out a hand. "Fine."  
Her father took her hand in his and shook it, gently. "That's my girl."

She yanked her hand back. "Don't think you can be nice to me after you've blackmailed me."

"Who's blackmailing? You just underestimate how much I know about the amount of teasing you can take from Russ."

She stared at him, debating how wise it was to kick out a criminal who also happened to be your father, when you'd told him two seconds ago you wouldn't.

She was saved from having to find out by a squeeze on her shoulder.

She turned to see Booth standing there looking from one to the other.

"So, "he said cheerily, rubbing his hands together. "What did I miss?"

"Sit down, Agent Booth."

Booth looked at her, obviously aware of her father's frosty tone, and sat down next to her, deliberately sliding in close, his arm around her shoulders.

Her father looked between them, then just as deliberately laid a hand on her arm.

Booth spoke first. "So. You know."  
"I know."

Booth nodded, then spoke to her out of the corner of his mouth.

"I thought we were gonna tell him _together_, Bones."

"You were late," she reasonably pointed out, sliding out from under his arm and pushing her father's hand away. "I had to talk to him about _something_."

"What, the weather wasn't an option?"

"We did that already." She muttered.

"Mm." Her father agreed. "Outside the diner."

"Too windy for baseball, too cold for picnics." She parroted her father's words from earlier, giving her partner a _see?_ look.

Her partner sighed, and glanced upwards once, before focussing on her father.

"Okay. So…we're good, right?"

Her father sat back, watching Booth.  
Booth, she noted with reluctant admiration, didn't shrink.

"Define good."

"I don't wake up in the night with my legs broken, you don't start warning Bones here about the dangers of dating someone on the right side of the law, that kind of thing."

"I can't promise that. It's pretty much in the job description."

"What, _paterfamilias_ or criminal?"

"Both." She jumped in, brightly.

They looked at her.

"Stay out of this, Bones."

She bristled. "What? Why?"

"Agent Booth and I are having a discussion."  
"Oh." She sat back, thought a minute. When she looked up, her partner and her father were still glaring at each other.

She tapped Booth on the arm.

"Excuse me? Just to clarify, is this the metaphorical equivalent of getting your ya-yas out?"

Booth swung around to stare at her.

"Where did you learn about that? And no. "  
"Ah. Angela warned me something like this would happen, I just didn't think it would be so soon."  
Booth glanced at her father, then sat back and rubbed a hand over his face.

"I think you'll find the usual rules don't apply with you, Bones."

"You can say that again." Her father sat back also, smiling ruefully at Booth.

She glanced warily between them.  
"I have _no_ idea what just happened."

Booth smiled at her, and slid over to put an arm around her again.

Seeing as she was trapped against the window, she couldn't slide away again, and so contented herself with glaring at him, instead.

He smirked at her, and looked at her father.

"Just a father-potential son-in-law bonding moment, right Max?"

Her father just looked at him.

Booth stiffened slightly against her side.

"Too soon?"

Her father said nothing.

"Yeah," Booth said to the air. "Too soon."

They sat in silence for a moment, before she tapped Booth again.

"So, what do we do now?"

"I can think of a few interesting discussions we could have." Her father said, smiling thinly at Booth.

"I can think of nothing that would please me more, Max. Except, you know, for the root canal I have scheduled."

She rolled her eyes, and catching her, Booth nudged her.

"You know, you could help, considering you started this."  
She sputtered. "Me! How did I start this? You were the one who came on to me!"  
"I meant we should have done this _together_, Bones. Maybe then the atmosphere in here would be a little less hostile."

He leaned close to mutter in her ear. "And we can discuss just who came on to who a little later."

She cleared her throat, flustered.

Booth smirked.  
She glared at him. "Who came onto _whom_, Booth."

"Have you two finished?" Her father asked mildly.

"He started it." She muttered, then yelped as Booth's fingers dug into her ribs.

"Alright, kids, listen up. _You_," He pointed at Booth, "are going to treat my daughter with the respect she deserves. I know you have to be pretty bright in order to keep tracking me down, so I'm trusting you to be smart enough not to screw it up with Temperance."

She snorted.

Her father's gaze swung around to fix on her.

"And _you_-"

"-Me?" She interrupted. "Why am I getting the father potential son-in-law lecture?"

"Because the usual rules don't apply with you."

She snuck a glance at Booth. He was smirking at nothing in particular, refusing to catch her eye.

She sunk a little in her seat. Males. Alpha males.

"Fine."

"You will _let_ him take care of you. Understood?"

She sighed. The man really did want what was best for her. Even though she was going to have to hurt what was best for her very shortly.

"Understood. Thanks, Dad."

Her father smiled at her, then cleared his throat. "Okay, well I'd better get going. I'll see you for lunch on Sunday, sweetie?"  
"What?" She'd never arranged lunch.  
"I'll see you then, Max." Booth spoke up.

She studied him. Booth had arranged lunch. With her father. Voluntarily. Without arresting him.

Booth poked her, and she stopped staring at him, nodding hurriedly at her father.

"Um, yes. Lunch. Sunday. Got it."

Her father squeezed her shoulder as he passed, nodded to Booth, and was gone.  
Booth let out a breath, then smiled at her.

"Well, that went well."

She huffed a laugh. "Well? Booth, I don't think there are words for what that was."

"Ah, come on, Bones. He gave us his blessing. He's coming for lunch. Life is good."

She raised a brow at him. "Where exactly in that conversation did he give us his blessing?"

Booth frowned at her. "Well, I definitely picked up the blessing vibe, okay?"

"The blessing vibe?"  
"It's kind of…well, it's a feeling…you know Bones, I should be mad at you for starting without me."

Her jaw dropped open. "You were the one who decided to show up late and leave me with no support. It didn't make you look like a great potential suitor, not being punctual."

"Suitor, Bones? I believe boyfriend is the term these days. And I was late because you told me to pick you up at home, but you'd already left."

Oh. She'd been a little scattered today, with this meeting. She'd forgotten.

She nodded, with a kind of grim acceptance. "So this is my fault."

"Yep," Booth said cheerfully, his hand starting to play with the ends of her hair. "How are you going to make it up to me?'

"By not pointing out you were acting like I was some kind of property before?"

His hand started to trace down her arm, and she batted it away.  
He sighed. "What, Bones?"

She mimicked his gesture from before, sliding in close and throwing her arm around him.  
"That."  
He grinned at her, his face inches from her own.

"That wasn't possessiveness, Bones, it was lust. I hadn't touched you in nearly eight hours, what am I supposed to do?"

Oh. "So you're not possessive of me."

He closed his eyes briefly, then sat her back a little as she studied him.

"You know, some women would have found that last remark at least a little romantic."  
"I find it more interesting that when confronted with my father all you can think about is how much you lust for me."

"Okay, gross overstatement, a, and two, Bones, you already belong to me. Nothing your father, or you, or God Himself can do will ever change that. That's why I'm not possessive, Bones. I'm completely safe in the knowledge you're mine."

_Oh._ "You know, from what I understand I don't think God has a hand in people owning other people."

He groaned, and buried his face in his hands.

She watched him, a slight smile on her face.

"Booth."  
He spoke from behind his hands, his voice muffled.

"What."

"You're mine, too. You know that, right?"

He raised his head, and reached to cup her cheek.

"I know that, Bones."

They looked at each other for a moment and her gaze drifted to his mouth.

"So…what are the dangers of going out with men like you?"  
"Well, you know. Dangerous, debonair, passionate. Could be risky."

She pretended to consider this. "Good thing I have considerable expertise in the area of danger. Having a criminal for a father helps, of course."  
"Mm."

She looked at him. "What?"

"I was just thinking, as fathers go, yours isn't that scary. In fact, I find you a whole lot more intimidating."

She blinked at him. "What? Why?"

"Well, when you do the Death Stare-"

She kissed him, loving the feel of him, the taste of him, under her mouth.

"Shut up, Booth."

Booth raised a brow at her, his voice a little hoarse. "Yes, ma'am."

She raised a brow back. "So, are you too afraid of me to come back to my place?"

"I'm sure I can master my fear."

"Good."

Taking him by the hand, she led him from the diner.

And in the shadows across the lot, a man watched the couple, chuckling as he saw the woman take hold of the man's tie and pull him to her.

Smiling, he stepped back into the night, glancing back once.

"Ah, Temperance. That's my girl."

The End.

**Author's note:** Ah, The End. This feels like a good place to leave this story considering I started out and ended up with next to no plot, no planned character arcs, barely any dialogue, and the vague thought I wanted to put Brennan's father in somewhere and get Booth and Brennan together eventually. Thanks so much to every single one of you that stuck with me through this endeavour- especially those that have continued to read, review and favourite my work. I very much appreciate this, and as a consequence will put a little more thought into my next story!

Hope you guys all have a fantastic week!!

Kickstergal.


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